Carol Hughes

§ Horror and Grief §

When I arrived home a bit later than usual on Thursday, October 29 I was surprised to see the contractor’s truck still parked beside the house. The remodeling was nearly complete and the back of the house had grown by at least twelve feet. My curiosity had become almost painful, but I was determined to wait to look until the project was finished. When I reached the stairway to the door, splatters of red on the steps sent a sudden chill of fear through me. My first thought was of a construction injury so I called out for Jack as I opened the door.

Fear and unimaginable horror exploded in my head at the sight of a horribly mutilated body lying in a pool of blood in the hall. The only way I knew it was the contractor was by his clothes. Both walls beside his body were splashed with blood. I screamed “Jack!” as I rushed past the body and down the hall into the main room. Blood, broken furniture and bodies were strewn around the room. My heart nearly burst with pain as I realized that the bloody heap on the floor against the wall was Jack. He had been hacked to death by long curved knives that lay on the floor near the other four bodies. I cradled his bloody head for a long time as unimaginable emotional pain racked my body and crazed fury built. The other bodies were quite obviously Indian marauders. Each had been shot by the automatic lying near Jack’s hand. It was obvious they had all been dead for hours. I couldn’t imagine how it had all happened.

I reined in the overwhelming mixture of deep sorrow, pain, terror and rage long enough to phone the police in V City. I struggled to remain coherent as I described the scene of horror. As soon as I finished, waves of unthinkable raw primal emotion took over and I exploded in passionate anger. I began cursing and kicking the bodies of the dead marauders. When that didn’t ease my anger, I picked up one of the long curved knives and began furiously hacking away at one of the bodies.

When the police arrived they were greeted by a screaming maniacal woman wielding a dangerous knife. The words, “Ma’am! Ma’am! Please put down the knife.” Snapped back my sanity and I collapsed on the floor in uncontrollable sobs. My mind screaming in primitive hatred, my heart and soul rent by waves of intense grief, I lay there in the blood and body parts, unable to move.

My mind was a jumble of raw emotions compressing time into ragged, but separate pieces like shards of broken glass. Suddenly I realized there were a lot more people in the house. A kind woman helped me into the bathroom and began washing the blood from my face and hands. “You’d better get out of those clothes and into the shower.” She suggested.

“Who are you?” I asked, suddenly apprehensive.

“I’m Jeanne Long, a grief psychologist with OSI. I’m called on to help people like yourself in difficult or tragic situations.”

I babbled something about needing a gun and someone to shoot, not a shrink. Somehow, her words, “It’s okay to be angry.” Calmed me down and brought some sense of reality to my bizarre state of mind.

Jeanne started helping me out of my bloody clothes. “Let’s get you into the shower. Then we can talk when you’re finished.” I had no will to resist.

The warm water had a soothing effect on my mind as well as my body. I stayed in the shower for what seemed like an hour with Jeanne checking on me periodically. When I finally stepped out of the shower and into the towel Jeanne was holding for me I noticed my clothes were gone and not a trace of blood remained in the room. A small syringe lay on the counter next to the sink.

“You’ve been busy.” I remarked as I surveyed the now spotless bathroom.

“And you seem to have regained coherence. I though that shower would help.”

“I’m still in a state of shock and anger, but control is beginning to return.”

The sight of that syringe sent a twinge of fear through my body. “What’s that for?” I asked pointing to the syringe a bit apprehensively.

“It’s a fairly strong sedative. It won’t put you to sleep, but it will calm your nerves and prevent a panic attack.”

“Do I have to have it?”

“Absolutely not! We won’t do anything without your permission. I do recommend it though. It will certainly help get you through some difficult moments for the next few hours.”

“That shower certainly helped. – Actually, I feel as limp as a wet towel.”

“The tension and anger may be gone now, but will soon return if you don’t take any calming medication.”

I saw that Jeanne had laid out underwear, slippers and my terry robe. “I see you found my clothes. Thank you.”

“You can pick out what you want to wear when we go into the bedroom. There are about a dozen police and OSI out there going over the scene for any evidence. They’ll want to speak with you as soon as you are able, but I won’t let them until I’m sure you’re okay to do so. Now, How about that shot? It won’t hurt and it will help.”

“I truly appreciate your concern, but let me consider for a moment.” I slipped into my underwear, robe and slippers and headed into the guest room, A folding screen stood in the room shielding the view of the hall door. Men’s muted voices came from the great room as they pursued their examination. It was obvious they were being considerate of me. Once in the guest room I plopped down on the bed I would never again share with Jack. “He was a wonderful man.” came tearfully out of my mouth as my eyes met Jeanne’s.

“I’m sure he was.” She replied. “Would you like to tell me about him?”

“Okay, mother superior. Give me that shot. I’m not thinking too clearly and I’m pretty sure I can trust you.”

The needle in my shoulder stung just a bit. “I think this will help a lot.” Jeanne commented as she removed and trashed the now empty syringe. “Now, how about telling me about you and Jack.”

Somehow, midst many teary pauses, I blurted out the story of our meeting and how I had fallen terribly in love with a man my grandfather’s age. Jeanne was very understanding and reassuring not once questioning or judging.

“I think that shot is taking effect. I feel just a bit woozy.”

“We call it a three martini shot for obvious reasons. Just don’t take any alcohol for the next twenty-four hours or you will really be drunk.”

She was an attractive woman, probably about ten years my senior and a bit stouter with reddish blonde hair and a warm, almost motherly manner. “You’re a wonderful listener.” I commented. “So kind and understanding.”

“That’s my job, you know.”

“Maybe so, but your kind compassion and understanding have to be real or they wouldn’t work.”

“My mom was a very sincere and caring person so I guess some of that rubbed off on me. During training I was cautioned about becoming too involved with clients. The line between true compassion and involvement is a very nebulous thing I must deal with every day.”

“You seem to be doing quite well at it.”

“Thanks for the kind words, but let’s get back to you. There are several investigators out in the other room who want desperately to question you. My job is to be a buffer between you and them. None of them will get a moment with you until I okay it.”

Her words were very reassuring. “I’m beginning to settle down some, but even I know I’m not ready to be interrogated.”

“You’re doing very well at the present, but you will have periods of uncontrollable grief and bits of extreme anger, sometimes very unexpectedly. Right now I need to explain some things you probably don’t know. Are you up to listening for a while?”

I was quite surprised at how calm I felt. The warm shower, the shot and Jeanne’s company were powerful tonics. “Right now I feel in control so go ahead.”

“First of all, we know a great deal more about both you and Jack than you could guess. Don’t panic because it’s all good. About the time Jack built this house we recruited him as a consultant to OSI. He probably knew more about the Indian marauders than anyone. He goes way back with them, nearly fifty years.”

“He told me he was writing a series of articles about them for a magazine and that their leader was part of a group he fought against during the settling of Africa, but never mentioned he was working with any government people.”

“We asked him not to divulge his connection with OSI to you, primarily for your own protection. He objected strongly to that telling us that he knew you could handle it. Incidently, he had a very high opinion of both your abilities and integrity.”

A bit ruffled I demanded, “Just how much do you know about us.”

“Don’t worry! Everything we know about you and Jack came from him. I’m sure you know that it was all positive. Jack was a very wise man deeply in love. He assured us our concerns about you were unfounded. Of course, he was very concerned about your safety.”

“That’s my Jack.” As those words came out in an almost flip manner, I was suddenly shocked by waves of grief drowning me in a sea of anguish and tears. I shook as a quake of violent sobs coursed through my body. Jeanne grabbed and held me without saying a word.

It was several minutes before the attack began to subside. Jeanne said nothing, but continued to hold me. Finally my mind cleared a bit and I said, “I’m okay now.”

“Are you sure?”

“I never saw that coming. Right now I’m not sure of anything.”

“That makes perfect reasoning to me. It’s also a good sign.” She said smiling as she released me and our eyes met.

“Why so?” I asked, seeming to return to sanity.

“It’s normal to be very unsure under these circumstances and many different experiences and situations will trigger moments of extreme grief. As time passes their frequency and severity will diminish, but they will remain with you, just beneath the surface, ready to erupt. This may never disappear completely. That’s perfectly normal. It’s when they’re denied or hidden they cause problems, so try not to do so.”

“I can hardly believe how quickly I was overcome.”

“That too is normal. For now, just let fly and don’t hold back. That’s the healthiest way to deal with it.”

“That might be difficult in some situations.”

“Remember, grief and expressions of grief are understood by all but the most callus and evil people. Most people will try to comfort the grief stricken. Some haven’t a clue how, but really mean well. You can be sure of that.”

“You really know about these things.”

“Most of that comes from my instincts. Instincts are usually dominant in stressful situations. You have the honed instincts of a successful business person. That’s all about sensing another person’s situation and dealing properly with it. I’ll wager you are very good at it.”

“Maybe so, but right now I’d like to hear how you know so much about us.”

“Okay, As you probably know, Jack has a long history with the military. He has been a consultant of sorts to the military, government and police off and on for many years. His kind of experience and knowledge is very hard to come by and is quite valuable. He has been especially helpful in our efforts to deal with the IMK. That’s OSI’s acronym for Indian Marauder Krang.”

“He told me about them and gave me some of his articles to read. He also mentioned he had been threatened, but didn’t seem concerned.”

“He didn’t share our concern for his safety. He wouldn’t join OSI, preferring to remain free of the restraints we would have placed on him. We tried to get him to stop publishing his articles on the IMK considering his writing brought so many threats. He stubbornly refused believing the public had a right to know about the danger they posed. He wouldn’t let us protect him in any way with security personnel. If we had, he would probably still be with us. He did let us put you under guard when you were not with him. He feared they might kidnap you and use you as a bargaining chip.”

“You mean I’ve had a body guard? I certainly didn’t notice anyone. How long has this been going on?”

“For at least six months. At Jack’s request we’ve been guarding you since shortly after you two met. We weren’t too worried about you because your name had never appeared in any of our intelligence reports on the IMK, but Jack wanted to make sure. His own activities were often noted in those reports. In spite of Jack’s instructions, we were secretly watching and guarding him at night. The IMK never staged a daytime raid south of the border. Until now, all raids were at night so we thought he was safe during the day. That was a costly mistake. We should have ignored his request for no guards.”

“That’s just Jack. Independent as Hell. He probably thought he could handle his own security.”

“He did put up quite a fight. In addition to the four IMK dead in the house they found two more outside. There must have been at least a dozen of them. They were only able to get to him when he ran out of ammunition. I’ll wager several more of them are carrying bullet wounds.”

The thought of Jack battling those men brought on another grief attack. Once more Jeanne held and comforted me until it was over. “I should have seen that coming.” I sobbed as it subsided.

“Not for quite a while. You’ll be blind sided that way numerous times, maybe for years. I still have an occasional grief attack about my dad who was killed in a plane crash thirty years ago. The severity and frequency both decrease, but they never go away completely, at least not for most people who have normal feelings.”

“I thought you were supposed to provide me comfort?”

“Knowledge, understanding and acceptance of reality are the best solutions for your distress. My job is to help you gain these as quickly and painlessly as possible. Sometimes that’s not easy to do.”

I chuckled cynically as I remarked, “All I have to do is grin and bear it.”

Jeanne looked a bit perturbed. “That’s not at all what I meant and you know it. Anger will be the toughest thing to handle. It will eat at you unbearably if you let it. It could even take over your life. If that happens you’ll become bitter and take your anger out on everyone, even those who care for you. I’m certain you don’t want that to happen.”

“Right now I’m seething and bouncing back and forth between that and terrible grief.”

“At least you have a specific direction for your anger. Still, you are caught between that and grief, two very strong competing emotions. Let’s get away from all this analysis and back to answering your questions. I was explaining how we knew about you and Jack. Since we had a long history with him, it is obvious we knew him quite well. When you came on the scene, we ran a routine check. The results agreed with Jack’s information so you were given a clean bill of health.”

“I still feel a bit violated, but I can understand the reasons.”

Jeanne grasped my hand stood. “Why don’t we go to get some coffee or tea? It will do you good to get away for a while. I’m sure there is a spot nearby.”

The thought of leaving brought on a minor panic attack. “I - I don’t know if I’m ready to see anyone.”

Jeanne was very reassuring. “I noticed a small restaurant about a mile south on the beach road. Would that be a good place?”

“I’ve never been there, but I know the place. Reggio’s was never my kind of place to eat, but I’m sure the coffee would be okay.”

“Let’s go then.” Jeanne said smiling and releasing my hand. “I’ll go tell the others where we’re going.”

As she stepped out and closed the door, a momentary bout of anguish and tears washed over me. Then the prospect of stepping past the body in the hall triggered another. It was all over by the time she returned.

“Everything is all right with Makara and his men so let’s head out. The hallway is all clear. They did that as soon as we came back here.”

A wave of appreciative feelings went through me. “Thank God! I didn’t like the idea of stepping over a body on the way out.”

Once outside I felt a bit more relaxed as the sea breeze fluffed my hair. In addition to Jack’s pickup and the contractor’s truck, there were three cars, two small vans and a rather large truck parked next to the small pile of lumber remaining from the remodeling and trailing down the driveway. Jeanne guided me to one of the cars, a small, Vcat coupe. Once inside we rode in relative silence down the beach road to Reggio’s. She must have sensed my need for quiet and said nothing until we parked at the restaurant.

“It seems a bit more run down than I remembered.” I commented as we walked up a wooden ramp that looked as if it had just been rescued from the surf. The porch, with its open bar, didn’t look a lot better. The two men talking and drinking at the bar followed us with their eyes in silence ‘til we went inside. We selected a booth at the end of the room away from the bar and near a window. The view looked out to the beach road and the darkening ocean beyond. The inside was in much better condition, bright, plastic and nearly empty. Only a couple with a young child obviously finishing their late dinner shared the room.

The lone waitress, oriental and probably Chinese, came to our booth. “I’m afraid we don’t have much left on our dinner menu. Sandwiches and salads are about all we have after eight.”

Jeanne spoke up. “I’d like a cup of hot tea, please. Carol, what would you like?”

“Decaf please. I don’t think I need any caffeine right now.”

As we sat and talked the outside bar became busier as the evening progressed and the drinking crowd drifted in sporadically. Far enough from the now noisy bar to be in relative quiet, we continued talking as I cathartically poured out my life story. Jeanne listened attentively, guiding my conversation when I wandered off track. We were shut off in our own world, not really part of Reggio’s scene.

We were interrupted by one of the men who had watched us when we walked in. He came over with obvious intent. “How are you girls tonight?”

Jeanne turned slightly toward him and replied coldly, “We’re just fine and would like not to be bothered, please.”

“Oh, a couple of snooty ones.” was his slightly drunken reply as he leaned down on the table. “Wouldn’t you girls like to spend the evening with ole Rusty and his buddy? We’re really fun guys.”

“No, we wouldn’t!” Jeanne spat out. “Please take your hands off our table and leave us alone.”

“And just what is miss snooty goin’ to do about it if I don’t?”

In one motion Jeanne slammed her elbow down on his hand, grabbed his arm and put him on the floor face down twisting his arm behind him to keep him pinned. In the next instant, a man in a dark blue shirt and pants shot through the door and swiftly cuffed Rusty. By this time, Rusty’s buddy came running over to help his friend, definitely a wrong move. Jeanne and the man in blue quickly had him on the floor next to Rusty and cuffed. No one else moved.

Jeanne looked at my astonished face and introduced the man in blue. “This is Tony Rawls, another member of OSI. He was outside watching over us in case there were any problems.”

“What about these two?” I asked pointing to the pair moaning on the floor.

“Don’t worry.” Tony said smiling.”They’ll spend the night in the local pokey to sober up and be freed in the morning. My guess is they’ve been in the drunk tank before.”

By this time the manager/bartender came over, completely astonished at what happened. “Is everything all right officer? I was about to throw these two troublemakers out anyway.” Obviously the handcuffs were enough ID to satisfy the man that Tony was an officer of the law.

Tony laughed. “They’ll spend the night in the tank. No harm done.” Then he headed out the door towing the two miscreants. “Tad will pick these two up from me in a few minutes.” He said as he stepped outside throwing, “See you tomorrow, Jeanne.” over his shoulder.

Clearly awed by the happenings, the bartender stepped to our booth. “I’m sorry about those bums bothering you. Please! Anything you want from the menu is on the house.”

Jeanne was quite stern with her reply. “Just a little peace and quiet are all we want. Think you can arrange that?”

“Surely! No one will bother you now.” He answered almost bowing. “I have just one question if you don’t mind.”

“What’s that?”

“How’d you manage to put Rusty down like that? You’re just a slip of a girl and he’s a rather big and ornery guy. I’ve never seen anyone get the best of him, but you sure did.”

“Martial art is a passion of mine. The bigger they are, the harder they fall you know.” Jeanne was smiling slyly as she answered.

“I’m still baffled. Never seen anything like that in fifteen years tendin’ bar. You sure got my respect.” He shook his head as he walked back to the bar. He and his patrons would have something to talk about for a long time.

I too was very curious. “How did you do that? He must outweigh you by at least a hundred pounds and you handled him like he was a toy.”

“It’s all in using an opponent’s weight and strength to defeat him quickly. All martial arts use that principal and we are thoroughly trained in using it.”

“I thought you described yourself as a grief counselor. Why would you get martial arts training?”

“No matter what their job or status, all members of OSI receive a great deal of physical training including the latest in martial arts. You never know when it might be needed, tonight for instance.”

“I’m impressed. How’d you get involved with OSI? I mean - that’s not your average everyday job. I’d never even heard of OSI until today.”

“I hadn’t heard of them either when I was contacted where I had been working at the state rehab center for nearly ten years. My boss called me into his office and introduced me to two people who wanted to talk to me. First they explained that I was kind of person they were looking for and asked if I might be interested in a much more demanding job. After we talked for more than an hour, I agreed to apply. It was very mysterious as they wouldn’t tell me who they were, what the job entailed, or what I would be paid. They said I would be doing very important work for the government and left it at that.”

“You applied without knowing what you were getting into?”

“My boss at the rehab center assured me all was on the up and up and that it was a great opportunity. He even told me that if things didn’t work out I could come back to work at the state rehab center as if I had never left. After nearly a month of mental, psychological and physical tests and numerous interviews, they explained exactly who they were and what my job would be. That was nearly seven years ago and I loved almost every day of it. At first I hated the strenuous physical training, but by the time I became well-conditioned PT became a welcome diversion from the frequent emotional strain. It can be draining dealing with people under terrible emotional stress. Walking that line between detachment and involvement is really difficult and stressful.”

“You seem to be handling it quite well and doing your job too, at least with me. I’m more relaxed now than I have been since this all happened.”

“You are very easy to deal with. Very few times have I seen anyone recovering so quickly from such a trauma. You must have a very strong will. Many people in your circumstance would have been babbling incoherently for several days.”

“I’ve never had to deal with anything like this. I’m sure to have a few more babbling moments.”

We talked until nearly eleven thirty when Jeanne said. “I think you’d better get a good night’s sleep. I doubt I can hold off those interrogators beyond tomorrow morning with you doing so well. Would you like to spend the night at my place in V City or go to a hotel? I don’t think you want to go back to the house just yet and my place is about an hour from here.”

“I certainly don’t want to stay in a hotel. You’re place would be fine.”

“While you were in the shower, I packed some of your clothes and a few personal items in a small suitcase I found in your closet.”

“You think of everything, don’t you?”

“Just doing my job, ma’am. Just doing my job.” She replied in a stilted voice and with a big grin. We both laughed.

§ Hangover §

I awoke with a start and screamed. Instantly Jeanne was bending over me. “Take it easy, You’re okay, I’m right here.”

She had given me a small pill to help me sleep, but it must have made me disoriented. When I awoke the whole bad dream of yesterday played out in my head and I was sobbing uncontrollably once more. Jeanne’s reassuring hands on my forehead helped me to regain control. “That was a bad one.” I commented as I sat up on the edge of the bed. Visions of bloody bodies still coursed through my head.

“How about a warm shower? That should help”

Numb with grief I stumbled into her bathroom, stripped, and stepped into the shower. The warm rush of water soon relaxed taught muscles and I began to relax and think rationally. “Thanks Jeanne!” I shouted over the sound of the water. “I’m okay now.”

When we sat down to breakfast, I was totally without any appetite. “Just try to down some toast and juice.” Jeanne suggested. “You’re going to need some energy today. The interrogation team is waiting in the lobby. I won’t let them in until you’re okay.”

I struggled to down two pieces of toast, but actually enjoyed the OJ and coffee. “I think I’m ready. Are they going to talk to me here?”

“Right here in my living room and I’ll be with you all the time. While they will make every effort not to upset you they must ask some hard questions. Try to stay calm and think clearly as this could be very significant. After the questions they will want you to return with them to the house. They need you to tell them if anything is missing. That’s absolutely crucial and you are the only one who can do that. - Ready?”

At my okay Jeanne called the men up from the lobby. Their questions were not as harsh as I had imagined. After about an hour the repetition finally got to me and suddenly I was quite upset. “Why are you asking the same questions over and over? I answered the same ones so many times before.”

Reynard Kronus, a dark-skinned man of obvious multi racial background, was the lead questioner and obvious top authority. He immediately apologized. “I’m sorry, Miss Hughes, it’s just that repeated questions often bring up details missed in earlier answers. Why don’t we take a break for a while?”

I liked that idea. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t understand. I’m not used to being questioned so thoroughly.”

Jeanne stood and headed for the hallway. “I’ve a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen. Why don’t we head out there for our break?”

We all relaxed around the kitchen table over coffee as the two men expressed their deep concern for my emotional stress. “One of the most difficult parts of our job is questioning people in situations like yours.” Jeffrey, the second OSI questioner commented. “As hard as we try to be considerate, some of our questions and the way we must ask them are difficult to deal with. Necessary, but very brutal for us to even ask. I hope you understand.”

“Actually, you have been very kind in your questions. I know they are necessary, but answering the same question over and over finally got to me. I hope you understand.”

The two men looked at each other and their, “touche” was almost in unison. We all had a good laugh over that before heading back to the living room. The next series of questions were a bit softer and not repeated so often. I appreciated that and told them so.

About the fourth time Jeffrey asked if I remembered anything about the scene a picture flashed before my eyes, one I had not remembered until just then. “Jack’s computer. It wasn’t there. It always stays on the table near the telescope, but I’m sure it was missing when I came into the room.”

Jeff quickly scanned through a notebook page by page then looked up. “No computer. There is no computer on our inventory list. They must have taken it when they left.”

“Not good.” Raynard remarked looking very concerned. “I hope Jack kept a backup somewhere and I hope there was no sensitive data on that hard drive.”

I was delighted to report, “He backed up every time he used his PC. There are at least two DVDs with his last two data backups in the glove compartment of his pickup. He kept them there in case his house burned.”

The OSI men were very pleased. Jeffrey was immediately on the radio to the men at the house telling them to get the DVDs from the pickup.

“There’s one more thing that may be significant.” I commented. “Jack gave me a notebook with paper copies of his most recent work and another DVD. He asked me to keep them at the office for him. Periodically he asked me to bring them home to be updated. He said he kept this information off his PC in case someone stole it. He didn’t want it falling in the wrong hands. Now I see why.”

“Jack was sure a sly old fox.” Jeffrey remarked. “ We’d better get to your office right away and retrieve those. I don’t to take a chance they could fall into the wrong hands.”

As OSI made arrangements to pickup the notebook I realized I hadn’t even thought of my office and how they would be wondering why I hadn’t shown up. Then I thought about the news and nearly panicked. “With this all on TV and in the papers my people will be terribly concerned. I never thought about that until just now.”

“Don’t worry about that now.” Reynard said kindly. “None of this will make the news. We keep all OSI activities at a very low profile. The police know to keep it under wraps as well or they might have serious jurisdictional problems they really don’t want. And, for your benefit, we called your office and told them you would not be in today and would not be able to talk to them until tomorrow because of an unexpected out-of-town trip on a personal matter. Your gal, Nedra, grilled me for quite a while before agreeing to accept my word. When I told her that Jack was gone as well she said she would hold down the fort until you returned.”

I sighed in relief. “So she grilled you did she? That’s Nedra, my right hand at my travel business. You’re not going to get much past her. She’s quite capable of handling the business while I’m away.”

§ The Funeral §

The memorial get together before Jack’s funeral was a blur of tears and introductions: the new faces of Jack’s family, mind fogging conversations of explanations, anger and disbelief. My introduction to Eric, Jack’s grandson was a heart-stopping experience for me. We stood looking at each other in silence for at least a minute, a magical minute after Jack’s daughter, Sandra introduced us. Eric looked like a young clone of his grandfather with his easy smile and blue eyes.

He even sounded like Jack when he said, “So you are my grandfather’s special lady. I must say he had exquisite taste in women.” Somehow I recognized this as a genuine compliment and not a come on.

Suddenly the tears burst forth once more. Eric said nothing as he put his arms around me. I continued to sob into his shoulder for a few minutes, then regained my composure and stepped back. As I did I saw the tears on Eric’s face. All I could manage to say was, “He was some kind of a special man.” I struggled for a tissue and passed one to Eric as well.

As we both dabbed the tears Eric finally struggled to say, “He certainly was! Very special.”

We stood for several minutes, looking at each other in the unspoken comradeship of overwhelming grief. The silence was of deep understanding, far better than words could express. Finally Eric took my hand and led me to a small group of people I had not noticed before. There were two men about fifty and an elderly man I guessed to be at least eighty. They all wore the weatherbeaten look of men who spent their time at sea.

“Carol, this is Roy Weatherly and his two sons, Jeremiah and Jebulum. He and my grandad ran fishing boats together for years.”

“Oh yes,” I said as we shook hands. “Jack spoke very highly of you. I take it your sons are in the fishing business with you.”

“Well, actually, my boys run the boats now. I help out on occasion when the weather’s good.” Roy said proudly, gazing at the two men. “Jack and I go way back. Met him when he was racing those little jets. He was a wild man then. It’s a shame, what happened. Jack was the best friend I ever had.”

I handed Roy one of my tissues as his sons put their arms around him to comfort him. There was another silent moment of shared grief. The five of us stood and talked about Jack for about fifteen minutes before drifting off to talk to others.

There were about sixty people at the funeral. Besides Jacks family, my brother Mack and his wife, Rhea, Nedra and several others from my office I assumed the rest were friends of Jack’s from the area. The funeral was very simple. Each of Jack’s three children spoke about their father. Eric was the only grandchild to speak, but his words were a revelation to me. Until that moment I hadn’t realized how close Eric and Jack were. Eric made it quite clear how much he adored his grandfather and spoke of the many things they had done together–adventures he called them–from when he was very young. Then he blew my mind as he came over to me, took my hand and led me up to where everyone spoke.

“I want all of you to meet a very special lady in my grandfather’s life. This is Carol Hughes. According to my grandfather, she is the only women other than my grandmother that he ever loved. She declined when asked by my mother to speak, but since meeting her and talking with her, I feel fairly safe in asking her to say something. Carol?”

I was terrified. “I hardly know where to start.” I stammered, trying to find the words. I looked at so many faces I didn’t know, paused and then continued. “I suppose you would all like to know what attracted me to a man who was older than my own grandfather.” I proceeded to tell them how we met and a quick recounting of the development of our love. “I make no apologies. I simply fell in love with a wonderful man. I shall miss him terribly.” I turned as tears streamed down my cheeks and headed for my seat in a room silent but for soft sobs and sniffles. As I sat down I remembered the last six months...

§ Jack Chandler §

After the quick trip home from my office I stepped off of the speedwalk at my usual spot, half a mile from my apartment. As always, I walked to the beach and headed home on the sand as the sun dropped toward the Atlantic. Kicking off my heels, I stepped onto the sand, enjoying the warm, dry grains oozing through from beneath my toes. Savoring the flow of sand at each step, I pranced toward the water to dodge the edges of the waves as they bubbled and danced up the sand and then sank into it. I enjoyed this little game of tag with the ocean most evenings as I walked home, the breeze flowing my hair and assailing my nostrils with the delicious smells of salt water. “Carol Hughes, you are a most fortunate woman.” I thought to myself as I side stepped a piece of kelp on the wet sand. “Only twenty-eight and with a very successful travel arrangement company that practically runs itself.”

An old man walking slowly down the beach toward the sand interrupted my thoughts. At the pace we were moving it was clear we would meet at the water’s edge. I resented the prospect of anyone interfering with my thought right now. I was irritated at the prospect of looking eye to eye at another person, let alone an old man. I found little in common with older people, avoiding contact whenever possible. Nedra, my capable assistant, directed all of our older clients to one of our seven associate arrangers. I handled only ‘special’ clients: celebs and the very wealthy. I guess I’m a bit snobbish with my business, but I worked hard to earn it.

Just before reaching the wet sand, the man dropped down on his left knee, leaned on his right knee with his right arm and rested his bearded chin on his right hand. White hair flowed out from beneath a faded blue cap with an ancient military insignia. He seemed to stare intently at the sand a few feet in front of him, a forlorn figure in wrinkled khaki shorts and shirt, huddled as if cold, even in the eighty degree heat of late afternoon. He continued staring at the sand as I passed just a few feet in front of him. I was immediately grateful he didn’t acknowledge my presence; I could continue my private thoughts as I walked on uninterrupted.

Suddenly my thoughts startled me. The thought, “That old goat’s gonna walk into the water and end it,” popped into my mind. A knee-jerk reaction caused me to whirl about and head back to the still huddled figure.

“Are you alright?” I asked, stopping in front of him. He looked up at me trying to focus on this intrusion into his private world. The clearest blue eyes I have ever seen went from blank to a bright twinkle and looked almost through me.

“Why - uh - yes,” he finally replied. “I’m okay. Just doing a bit of reminiscing.” He looked so forlorn, almost on the brink of tears.

“Are you sure? I was worried. I saw you looking at the sand, so oblivious to everything. I thought maybe you were . . . I mean . . .”

“Gonna throw myself in the ocean and end it all? Is that what you thought?” His lined face broke into a friendly grin as he spoke. The accuracy of his words surprised me.

“Well, it has happened.”

“No chance. I’m not the kind to do stupid things like that. Life’s too precious. I am quite sad though. I guess that showed.”

“I’m glad you’re okay. You are all right aren’t you? I’m not nosy, just concerned. You looked so - defeated when I passed you. That’s why I avoid older people. They usually have some sad story to tell or some complaint about the insensitivity of young people.”

“Well, I do have some sadness on my mind. I just found out my wife died last week. That brought back lots of memories - ghosts from my past you might say.”

“I’m so sorry. Was she ill?” I was right. Another sad story. I decided to get away from him shortly.

“She had several strokes a couple of years ago. Then she had one big one last week that did her in.”

“It must have been hard on you, taking care of her I mean.” I wondered how I could end this and leave without being cruel?

“It wasn’t that way. We divorced more than thirty years ago. I’ve only seen her a few times since then. She was living with one of our daughters when she died. It’s just that news of her death brought back a flood of memories. I guess I was sort of revisiting the past and feeling sad that it was so long ago.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” I turned to go, but something about the sparkle in those clear blue eyes made me stop and turn back. I was surprised by my interest in this old man whom I normally would avoid like jellyfish poison on the wet sand.

“No need to apologize. You weren’t prying one bit. Old memories die hard, but making new ones, there’s the real joy in life.”

“That’s quite profound. Makes good sense.” Strangely, the old man no longer seemed quite so forlorn and uninteresting.

“Take right now for instance. Here I am, an old coot, moonin’ about things that happened so long ago they’re hard to remember and along comes a beautiful young woman to bring me out of the past and back into a very pleasant present. I’ll remember this for a long time.”

“Thank you so much. You’ve really made a good day even better for me. I too will remember it.” Suddenly I wanted to know more about him. “Do you mind if I sit here on the sand with you and talk for a while?”

“Mind? I’d love it. A current reality beats a long past memory every time.”

I was amazed at the transformation in his face from the somber to the merry, almost mischievous. His body no longer seemed huddled, but strong and full of life. “I’m glad I returned to talk to you and I really was worried about what you might do.”

He shifted his position, sat down on the sand and leaned back on his hands. “See how wrong first impressions can be? You’re obviously a bright young lady and from the clothes, I’d say quite successful too, at least financially. Or do you have a sugar daddy?”

“A sugar daddy? What’s that?”

Mischief again filled those blue eyes. “Sorry, I forgot about the multiple generation gaps. That’s a word from the dark ages, a name for a man, usually wealthy, who keeps a young woman in clothes, cars and apartments so she can grace his arm when he goes out and please him in bed when he doesn’t. All without the commitment of marriage.”

I felt a bit insulted. “Not in this life! I make my own way. I’m proud to say I own a travel arrangement company - Travels by Carol - right in downtown V City. I don’t call it a travel agency because we do so much more. Our main business is guided tours to exotic places. I’m so busy with the business I haven’t the time for a man in my life.”

“So your name is Carol and you’re a tour guide with a positive professional attitude and no use for men. What’s your last name?” His question rolled pleasantly from a broad smile.

“Hughes, Carol Ann Hughes and it’s not that I have no use for men, it’s just that most of the ones I meet are either immature or sickeningly macho. At least they act that way and I’ve gotten tired of wrestling matches. Real men seem quite rare these days. And what is your name?”

“Jack, Jack Chandler. And I certainly agree with you about real men.”

“Where are you from, Jack Chandler, and how did you come to be on this beach?”

“You really don’t want my life story, do you?” He asked with a merry chuckle. “I built that little house behind us about six years ago. Came here to relax, walk the beach, fish a little, read a little, find interesting conversations and write whatever comes into my mind.”

“You’re a writer?”

“Maybe. I write strictly for my own enjoyment or as an outlet for anger about all I see that’s so wrong about people. Sometimes I even write about the things I see that are right. My own opinions of course. I’ve even had a few op-ed pieces published in the newspapers. Actually, I’d rather fish most of the time. I’ve found a few people to talk to, but so far I’ve found mostly small people and small talk. Very few interesting conversations.”

“I hope I don’t fall into that category.”

“No way of knowing yet. We haven’t had any real conversation. Might never have one. Most young Anglos haven’t the patience for real conversation. A verbal wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am is all they have time for. Most older folks’ conversations center on kids, grand-kids, the weather, their aches and pains and, on rare occasions, a social or political subject. Once those are dispensed with there’s not much they have to say except how bad things have become.”

“Interesting. I never quite thought about it that way. I mostly agree with you. That’s a pretty good brief description of my friends conversations. The young ones, I mean. I rarely speak with the older generations, except those in my family.”

“Most of you young Anglos seem to think folks over fifty are completely out of the loop: no feelings, no emotions, no zest for life, no dreams, no drive, no hopes for the future. It’s been that way since Anglos became a minority in the old US a few years after the time the Krang attacked. The continuing youth culture seems to me to be an effort to avoid or at least ignore the inevitable. I think it’s better to lay back and enjoy it, to paraphrase an old saying.”

“I sort of understand what you’re saying. You lived in the old US? My parents came here during the early migration of Anglos to Africa after the war. I’ve never known any country except the Anglo African States. The old US people think so differently from we native born. At least I think so. I never had an understanding of my grand parents love for the “old” US. I certainly have no desire to go there, even to visit. I’m afraid that’s the reason for my own thoughts about people over fifty. I mostly avoid them.”

He cocked his head in a questioning look, almost like a dog twists its head at a strange sound. “If that’s true, why’d you stop to talk to me?”

“Honestly, when I first saw you heading down the beach I almost dreaded coming face-to-face with you. I was actually relieved when you stopped and ignored me as I walked by.”

His eyes laughed. “You came back to keep me from doing myself in. Right?”

“I’m afraid that’s true. Then something about your eyes triggered my interest. I surprised myself when I sat down beside you, but it just seemed - the thing to do.”

Jack laughed hard at that and I became even more intrigued. This was an unusually different me. I had no idea where I was headed, but fascinated to find out.

“Just maybe there’s a real person inside that cover-girl shell. I watched you coming down the beach. You seemed to switch from a little girl to a sophisticate and then back as you dodged the waves and then walked like a clothes model on a runway. The dichotomy fascinated me. I really admired the little girl. She seemed very real, like she belonged in the scene. The other one seemed a plastic caricature.”

“Maybe that’s why I so enjoy walking on the beach on my way home. It makes me feel so - - free. It’s one of the few thing that does.”

“That’s because you’re afraid to let go except when you’re alone on the beach. You ought to let that little girl out more often, and in other places. You might be surprised what happens.”

“I don’t have the time. My business keeps me too busy.”

“That’s a big mistake. I was like that once. No time for anything but work. How long have you been in business. Can’t be too long, you’re not old enough.”

“Four years. Actually, the bank and the ex-owner still own more than I do, but that’s changing rapidly. I’ll have them paid off in seven or eight years and it will be all mine.” That “all mine” sounded positively delicious.

“What do you plan to do then?”

“By then I’ll have several branch offices.”

“Why?”

“So I can make more money.”

“Odds are you’ll be borrowed up to the hilt and not having any fun. What will you do when work isn’t fun anymore, keep on pushin’?”

“Actually, I really enjoy my work. I meet lots of usually interesting people and travel to many exotic places to check them out for clients.”

“So everything you do centers on you business?”

“Pretty much.”

“What do you really want to do with your life? Build a mountain of debt and own a whole lot of things?”

“With any luck, I’ll be able to retire soon after forty and then do whatever I please. You know, A nice home near the ocean, time to do what I want, not what I have to do.”

“No husband? No kids? Just you all by yourself?”

“No Interferences. No compromises. No arguments. Things I don’t need. Yes, I rather like that.”

“Do you have any family?”

“A younger brother. He has two kids, a boy about three and a baby girl who’s four months. I visit them fairly often up in the valley near T City. Nice thing about that is when the kids get to me, I can just leave. Rhea, his wife doesn’t have that option. I don’t see dirty diapers and snotty noses as my favorite things.”

Jack laughed again. His eyes crinkled and seemed almost to dance with life. “Don’t you think they are happy with their life and kids?”

“Deliriously so. Mac manages a large herd of beef cattle up in the reclaimed land about three hundred miles north of here. Started off as an accountant for a rancher and after two years he took over running the place. They hope some day they will own a ranch of their own. Rhea was a legal secretary. Had a great job in town which she gave up when Terry was born. Now she’s a stay-at-home mom. She helps out with the ranch. Keeps track of all kinds of things using her computer right from home so she can be with the kids. Their finances are tight, but they still mange to save a little toward their dream ranch. I sure hope they make it. They’re both good people and really hard workers.”

“Sounds like quite a different life style from your own. I take it you can’t see yourself like that?”

“Occasionally I wonder how I could find a man like my brother. He’s a kind hearted kid and really devoted to his family. They’re really a cute couple. Those kind are few and far between.”

“I’ll bet that little girl in you could find one if you let her.”

“She’s just tired of looking.”

“Looking in all the wrong places is my guess. You remind me a lot of my ex when I first met her.”

“Oh? Tell me about her. Let’s talk about you for a while.”

“You sure an old man’s story won’t bore you to death?”

“I suppose I had that coming. No, I don’t think so.”

He looked wistful and far removed for just a moment. “Let’s see. Cheryl - a couple o’ years after returning from Africa when my stint with the military was over, I ended up in Austin Texas looking for a job. It was May of 2024 when I walked into the GP placement school to see if I could become a real pilot.”

“What’s GP stand for.”

“Ground pilot. We flew pilotless aircraft from computers. As a kid, I was really good at cyber games so it was a natural to enlist and go to GP school when I was seventeen. I trained on all types of drones from Marauder attack craft to Perseus recon types. It was just a game to me, lots of fun. I was just completing my two years of training when the invasion hit. It changed from fun to serious business in an instance just as I graduated.”

“You were in the war? I’ve never met anyone who actually fought in the war. You’ll have to tell me about it some time.”

“Any way the school trained GPs to fly real aircraft from a real pilot’s seat. It was almost identical to flying drones from the ground, but maneuvering capabilities were reduced drastically. Drones could handle as much as forty Gs in changes of direction. With a pilot on board that was reduced to eight or nine max. That was the hardest thing to learn to handle. The computer on the piloted aircraft limited all changes of direction holding them to less than the G settings on the computer. We trained with them set at five Gs. Higher Gs were only permitted later and with a G-suit. I only blacked out twice during training.”

“I sort of understand. How did your ex fit into this picture?”

“GP placement school was a private company that retrained military GPs as civilian pilots in standard aircraft. When I finished their entrance exam and went in for my interview, she was the interviewer. Here was this gorgeous female looking at me like she was my drill instructor and firing questions at me about my record. She was all business. By the time I left I was convinced she was hard as nails and that I would have a hard time converting to real flying. That was one of the toughest interrogations I had ever endured. It was almost a week before I found out I was accepted. I’d been in training about three weeks and ran into her at lunch in the school cafeteria. It was a stark room, just a place to satisfy the basic need for food. Everyone sat at long tables, ate as quickly as practical and left. It wasn’t a place conducive to conversation. I had just started on my usual dry sandwich and carton of milk when she sat down next to me in the only open seat at the table. She looked at me like I had no right to be there and made some comment on how the school must have dropped their standards to let me in. I replied that she could probably chew up the spoon propped in her coffee cup and spit out bullets. It was not an auspicious occasion. My fellow students described her as a drill instructor in a babe’s clothing and referred to her as miss B, with the obvious meaning. We wondered if she slept on a bed of nails and ate nuts, hull and all among other nastier ideas.

I knew immediately what she was doing. “She was merely protecting herself from the horde of horny young guys back from who knows where who came through the school. I’ll bet every one of them wanted to plink her. You men are so predictable.”

“You’re right on that, I found out later. I had taken a samall room in a private residence with seven other guys. I got to know Carla, the lady who owned it, quite well. She was a sharp old gal who took a special liking to me. Quite a few times I was invited to have dinner with she and her husband, Armano, in their private living quarters section of the dorm. One night Carla told me she had a special surprise for me at dinner and I should dress in my best uniform. When I walked into the dining room, there sat miss B at the table. In complete innocence, Carla introduced her friend’s niece, Cheryl, to me. After a look that would freeze a firecracker Cheryl greeted me with an icy, ‘We’ve met.’ I looked forward to a tense meal. Carla looked at me in complete surprise at Cheryl’s cold response.”

“I can imagine. Why did she do that?”

“I doubt she knew anything about Cheryl’s cold relationship with the students. She liked us both and wanted us to meet. After a tense few minutes Cheryl suddenly got up and rushed into the living room, crying. Carla ran to her and I could hear the conversation clearly. It was just as you said, a protective device. I felt extremely uncomfortable and wanted to leave, but Armano told me to hang on. Apparently, he knew what was happening.”

“So, miss B wasn’t so hard after all. Of course, I knew that or she would never have married you.”

“Right again. When she finally returned, red eyed, she apologized. It was a totally different Cheryl who sat down at that table with me. Some time later, she confessed she treated me especially hard because she was attracted to me and wanted to avoid any entanglement To make a long story short, We were married a month after I graduated from school. I stayed on as a trainer at the school and Cheryl continued to interrogate prospects and put the fear of God into them although not quite as convincingly as before. She now had that little gold band for protection and me around the corner. She was no longer referred to as miss B, but as Mrs. Chandler, a far more complimentary name.”

“I’ll bet you two were quite a pair. You mentioned a daughter before. When did she come along and were there any others?”

“Sandra was a bit of a surprise, unplanned, but certainly welcomed and loved once we got over the initial shock of realization. Three years later we had twins, a boy and girl, Jack with a different middle name from mine and Rebecca.”

“Sandra and Rebecca, pretty names, but couldn’t you come up with something other than Jack? Or did you want a namesake.”

“Actually Cheryl wanted to name him Jack. We had a major disagreement over that and you see who won. It was a minor skirmish between two strong-willed people. We had some donnybrooks over the years, but they were always fair, clean, verbal battles, no nastiness. Neither of us ever wanted to back down, but someone always did. We really enjoyed the making up. I used to accuse her of starting fights just so we could make up.”

“So you think people can fight and still be in love.”

“If you don’t fight once in a while, you can’t be in love. They’re both strong emotions and I think one frequently leads to the other. Of course real brutal fights are out of the question. We had strong disagreements over some things and our battles were to decide those disagreements. Our love was never in doubt in spite of those highly charged emotional conflicts.”

“That’s a strange philosophy about love. I don’t know if everyone could be that way. Emotional scars can be hard to heal.”

“Have you ever been in love? I mean so much it hurt every time you disagreed?”

“That’s a strange question. I’ve thought I was in love several times, but it always seemed to fade away. Usually I found out the guy wasn’t who I thought he was in the first place. After one painful experience with a guy I lived with for two years, I’ve been quite wary of relationships. Ted was wonderful when we first met. Treated me royally for about a year and a half. I was trying to buy the travel business at the time we broke up. We began arguing about the increasing amount of time I spent with my job. I told him it would probably be like that until I had the business and was on my feet with the previous owner gone. After about six months I found a goodbye note on the frig. He said he still loved me, left me money to pay his half of the remaining lease on our apartment and took a job in Cape Town. I haven’t heard from him since. I cried for two days. He was a nice guy, but couldn’t take second place to my work.”

“He put up with second place much longer than I would have. He must have cared a great deal for the little girl in you. A woman married to her work is a bad bet for marriage or any relationship.”

“Sounds like you speak from experience.”

“That’s what finally happened to Cheryl and I. I just couldn’t handle being a minor part of her life compared to her job. Our priorities grew to be very different.”

I shuddered at the familiar feelings. “Ted and I had the same kind of problems. How did you wind up here in the AAS?”

“I had purchased four thousand acres of devastated land when I worked in the African Recovery Project right after the war ended. When the major emigration of US Anglos to Africa began, the owners of the flight school knew I had been in the ARP and asked me if I knew of any possible locations in Africa to move the school. It seemed like all the Anglos in Texas wanted to move to Africa because of the changing political climate in the US. When I told them about the land I owned, they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse and I became the largest stockholder in the flight school when it moved lock, stock and barrel, to Africa in 2032. We joined half the Anglos in Texas during that first wave. Incidently, did you know the “T” part of T City stands for Texas? So many Texans settled in that area they called it little Texas and named the central city, Texas City.”

“Is that why there are so many cattle ranches in the area?”

“Probably. I wish they hadn’t reduced the old American names of all those cities to single and double letters. I rather liked the old names.”

”Aren’t some of those cities now changing back? I seem to remember some serious effort to change that naming law, which I think was ridiculous. The old law I mean.”

“That was all part of an effort by a group of politicians to distance the AAS from the old US. I think they were all a bunch of nut cases, but what they did stuck, at least up to the present.”

“Were things really as wild and crazy back then as people say”

“We were all a bunch of crazy idealists who wanted to start a new country like the old US. I mean the really old US. Fortunately there were some very savvy cats who took control early in the game, Sunderland, Granatelli and Katz used the US in the early eighteen hundreds as a model and homesteaded all the untitled land that could remotely be considered as useable. There were a few small fights, you really couldn’t call them wars, but Sunderland organized the military so quickly and gained the peoples trust at the same time that the AAS came into being in less than a year. It was like the thirteen colonies all over again only much quicker. Adoption of the US constitution with all but the Latino amendments created a relatively free nation in short order. In reality, the heart of the old US soon moved en masse to Africa. It was frontier time all over again. Within a decade the AAS was a nation to be reckoned with. I’m sorry, I don’t know how much you know about those early years. I was in the thick of it and know lots of stuff that never made it into the history books.”

“Don’t worry. I’m fascinated with those early times. My parents used to talk about them some, but they were almost bystanders, just trying to make a life. So what happened to you and Cheryl?”

“She went back to work when the twins started school. As matter of fact, she took over more and more administrative work in my place. She was much better at it than I was. Anyway, I just wanted to fly. It was okay for the first few years, but then she was promoted several times. Finally, the year the twins started high school, she became general manager and that position took over her life. She turned into a full time executive. I left the day the twins graduated from high school. I’d been doing some racing in those little aircraft. Mini Bees they called them, powered by hydrogen jet engines. I had some success so I decided to turn professional and race the circuit. That meant I would be traveling all over the country. I used racing to forget about Cheryl. The other guys said I had a death wish, flying so close to the edge. I was soon winning most of the time, garnered a great sponsor and began making lots of money. For the next five years I spent each week in a different place. Raced all over the world, the AAS, Canada, the old US, Mexico and even some in Brazil. One day in the pre race meeting I was looking at all the other pilots. Most were about the same age as my kids and the next oldest to me in age was twelve years younger than I. It scared the hell out of me. I was way overdue to hit the ground. When I heard those kids referring to me as ‘dead man flying’ I decided it was time to quit. In spite of the fact that I was points leader at the time, I packed it in. My sponsor hit the roof, but I didn’t care. I was fifty three years old when I walked away from racing as the oldest two time international points winner in history. In spite of missing the last two races I came in third in the points standing that year, the only pilot to have five consecutive seasons at third in the points or better.”

“You must have been a natural at flying. I’ve ridden on a mag rider, but never in a small plane. I’ve seen a few of those races on TV, but I’ve never been to one. What did you do after you quit racing?”

“A friend of mine, Roy, ran a charter fishing boat out of L City up the east coast. After he showed me the ropes I bought a boat just like his and we started working together. When the fishing wasn’t so good we took sight seers on whale watching trips. I thought I would lose money, but it turned out to be fairly lucrative. Between that income, money from the sale of my part of the flight school and my investment in the African expansion market, I soon realized I didn’t have to work for a living any more. I stayed fishing and whale watching with Roy for nearly ten years.”

“Did you ever try to get back together with Cheryl?”

“I though about it several times, but decided against it. The kids made a few feeble attempts to get us back together, but she was still running that flight school and I didn’t want to chance it. In case you didn’t notice, the sun is almost on the horizon. It will start to get dark and the evening star will soon appear right about there.” He pointed high and above the setting sun. “There’s no moon tonight and I don’t know how far you have to walk up the beach. Besides, I’m getting hungry and I still have to cook dinner.”

“You’re trying to get rid of me.” I kidded, standing up. As I reached down and took his hand to help him up I looked into those clear blue eyes again.

“Not a chance,” he replied as he straightened up and stretched muscles that had been sitting too long. “I really enjoy talking with you. Where do you live?”

“See that grey apartment, the two-toned one with the white awnings?” I pointed north.

“Hell, we’re practically neighbors. There’s only five houses between mine and your apartment. If you’d like, you can join me for dinner. I already have a green salad prepared and plenty of fresh fish and shrimp. All I have to do is zap ‘em in the micro-pot. They’ll be ready to savor in less than five minutes.”

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“It’s no more than I’d be doing for myself, and I’m a real good cook. Why don’t you run home and change into jeans or the like - eatin’ clothes for finger food. Uh, you do have jeans don’t you?”

I laughed heartily. “Of course, silly. I would like to get out of this dress. I’ve had it on since six-thirty this morning. It’s a bit restrictive, for eating I mean.”

“By the time you get back I’ll have everything ready except the fish. I don’t want to start them until we’re ready to eat. They only take a couple of minutes.” He turned and headed for his house as I started for my apartment.

“See you in a few.” I called after him as he walked toward his house.

The air would be cooling as soon as it got dark so I put on some jeans, walking shoes and a sweater and headed down the walk toward his house. I could hardly believe I was so pleased to be going to dinner with a white-haired man as old as my grandmother.

§ Dinner and More §

“That was fabulous,” I said quite truthfully as I downed the last morsel of fish. “The dinner was very good and that light, white wine was perfect. You ought to open a restaurant.”

“Thank you kindly, but I prefer to cook for myself and a few select friends. Would you like a small glass of brandy? I’m going to have one.”

“Sure! Might as well. I didn’t want to do any work tonight anyway.”

“You mean you actually were going to work tonight?” he commented as he poured the clear tan liquid. “You are married to your business. How about a look at Saturn’s rings instead? Do something really wild.”

“Now you’re kidding me.”

“Not one bit,” he said as he walked out onto his deck, motioning me to follow. He slid a white plastic cover off a man-sized object to reveal a rather large and substantial telescope with what looked like a 30-inch flat screen TV set at eye level. “This baby is pointed at Saturn right now. Let’s see what she looks like.”

In less than a minute a spectacular picture of Saturn appeared on the screen in full color. “That’s beautiful,” was all I could say. “Absolutely breathtaking. How’d you get the colors so . . . brilliant. I’ve seen photos of Saturn, but never so clear or nearly so colorful.”

“That?” he replied with a knowing grin. “Is because this telescope sees the object through three different colored filters - special wavelengths. Those three images are enhanced for color separation and then combined to provide the colored image you see. It’s really quite simple.”

“For you maybe, but I’m no scientist. It sounds complicated to me; complicated, but beautiful. It’s positively gorgeous. Incidently, where is Saturn, really, right now.”

“It’s that bright object right there.” he replied, pointing. “It stays fixed on the display because my scope has a computer controlled motorized mechanism that moves it to follow whatever object I focus on. I can also punch in the coordinates of any spot in the heavens and it will move to display that spot. Of course it’s limited to locations ten or more degrees above the horizon.”

“Can you show me, please.”

“Anything in particular you’d like to see?”

“Just pick something pretty. I don’t really know much about the stars.”

“Okay, let’s view the Andromeda galaxy. It’s our nearest galactic neighbor.” With that, he entered several keystrokes with the keyboard. A list popped up in the lower corner of the screen. He finally made a selection from the list and stepped back. “It’ll take a few minutes to find those new coordinates.”

The motor on the telescope hummed as it swung slowly around and up. Finally there were several short bursts of humming and then silence. Soon a new picture emerged on the display. Jack made a few adjustments and the shimmering spiral of the Andromeda galaxy filled the center if the screen. “I’ve seen that before, but only in black and white. It’s much more beautiful in color.”

“Remember, that’s enhanced color. The eye can’t see it that way unless we intensify the colors. They’re the real colors, all right, just greatly enhanced. That makes it easier to see subtle differences that would be invisible otherwise.”.

“You are a fascinating man, Jack Chandler. A great cook, an astronomer, an airplane racer, and you were in the war. I’ll bet there are many more interesting things about you.”

“When you’ve knocked around this old world as much and for as long as I have, you can’t help but have some interesting experiences. There are just so many things I enjoy doing and made a practice of pursuing. Some of those I was lucky to live through. As long as this old body keeps on working I’ll probably continue doing. Of course, some of my abuses are paying me back with pains and stiffness. My doc says I’m wearin’ out. I don’t surf any more . . . bad knees. . . and I can’t take the stairs two at a time like I used to, but my reactions are still pretty quick and my mind seems to be holding up.”

“You look to be in good physical shape, certainly for a man your age . . . Let’s see, if you were in the war you must have been at least seventeen so that makes you . . . My God, you must be over seventy. I find that hard to believe.”

“Seventy-five to be exact. I’ll be seventy-six in June. I said I was an old coot. As far as physical shape is concerned, I’ve about thirty extra pounds I’d like to be shed of, but with my knees limiting my exercise and my love of good food, I’m having a hard time losing any.”

“You sure don’t act like seventy-five. My grand father is only seventy and he seems much older to me.”

“Some folks try to act like their age, or at least how they think people their age should act. I try not to live up to anyone’s expectations but my own. It gives me a lot of freedom. Incidently, I want to thank you for leaving that stuffy cover girl at home. I much prefer the mature little girl in jeans and sneakers.”

“Oh, I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.” As soon as I said that we both burst into hearty laughter.

After that we walked around his main room, looking at pictures of his plane, his fishing boat and lots of his family. Then he gave me a tour of the house which seemed much larger inside than it appeared from the beach. His home was very different. One huge room spanned the entire front opening onto a deck with steps down to the upper reach of the beach. Huge glass doors slid smoothly open to each side matching the windows which completed the entire front of the room. The doors hung on rollers and rode just above the wooden floor. When they were closed and latched a seal moved down and closed the half inch space between the bottom of the doors and the floor. Otherwise, they moved easily with the lightest touch. The well-equipped kitchen was actually almost part of the main room, sunken deep into the back wall with the sink counter flush with the rest of the back wall cabinets. An island across from the sink held a cooktop with a broiler, oven and hidden micro pot. A dropped section across the front was table height with four chairs for casual dining. The single bedroom was offset to the north of the main room with a large window facing the ocean. A wide utility/storage room went across the back of the house providing an open passage to the rear door and to a small guest room on the south side. Between the kitchen and the utility room were two bathrooms, one for each bedroom. The guest bath opened into the hall as well as the guest room. I found he had designed the house himself, designing the floor and the doors so sand from the beach caused no problems.

He explained, “See those thin cracks between each board on the deck and inside? That’s so any sand that blows in or is carried in will eventually slip through the cracks and end up beneath the house. A quick sweep with the broom and it’s all gone.”

“Don’t the cracks get plugged up? And how about windy days. Doesn’t sand seep inside through those cracks? I’d think that would be a problem.”

“Not at all. When it’s windy I keep the doors shut. By maintaining a positive air pressure inside with my HVAC unit, air is always going out through the cracks and nothing, not a single grain of sand can get in. Another nice thing, If I spill say, a cup of coffee, it’s gone through the crack in an instant. Makes cleanup really easy. Even the bathrooms have this floor.”

“And I suppose you designed that as well.”

“Guilty! Actually, several contractors have come by to see my floor and my doors to use in homes they were building. I’ll bet there are at least thirty or forty homes in the area with those floors or doors. I feel greatly complimented.”

“And you just let them do it, copy your designs, free?”

“Sure! They were all really decent guys. I met a number of really nice people because of this floor. Been in many nice homes for dinner as a result. In the six years I’ve been here, I met most of my new friends that way. Money can’t buy that, sharing freely sure does. Read that little phrase on that brass plaque there on the wall. That’s one of Jack Chandlers rules about life.”

I read aloud, “Givers are given. Takers get taken.” I thought for a moment . . . “That’s not always true though.”

“Few sayings are true all the time. I’ll bet that’s true a hell of lot more often than it is false. At least, that’s been my experience.”

“You’re probably right. I’ve never quite thought of it that way, but I will say one thing. Most of the real takers I’ve known live miserable little lives, even the wealthy ones. They also make lousy friends.”

“Sounds like you know that from first hand experience.”

“More than one.”

“You too.”

“That little girl in me has been taken in more than a few times by takers.”

“I’ll still bet you’d rather be you than the one who took advantage of you. That little girl in you can’t see some things coming. but she can see things the other you can’t. I’ve a suggestion for you.”

“Oh?”

“Take one day a week and let that little girl run your day. Do and act the way she wants to act. Be really crazy, no matter what. Go to work in the clothes you have on now. Smile at everybody, but don’t tell them what you are doing.”

“That’s insane.”

“You’ll be amazed at what happens. I guarantee it.”

“What about my customers? my people? They might not think it’s so cool. I’d certainly hate to lose a good client or mess up my guys or gals.”

“Aren’t you the boss? If you must tell them something, tell them it’s your . . . free-to-be-me day. That just one day a week you’re going to hang loose. See what happens.”

“They may want to do the same thing. We have strict dress and conduct rules. I couldn’t break those.”

“And why not?”

“We’d have chaos.”

“A little good clean chaos never hurt a soul. It might be good for you, all of you.”

“No way. I couldn’t take the chance. I might have a revolution on my hands. Some of my people have been in this professional mode at work for ten, even twenty years. They would be shocked out of their skulls.”

“If you’re really afraid, blame it on me. Tell them that some crazy old coot who has a minority interest in the business has gotten legal control of your company for just one day and insists you dress and act like this for that one day. Tell them they are free to do as they like for that one day, but to conduct normal business. I’ll come down in my shorts, sandals, T-shirt and cap to confirm your story.”

“You are crazy. I can’t believe I’m even considering doing this. Let me sleep on it.”

“Call me and let me know when you’re going to do it. Here’s my card with my TC number. That will reach me wherever I am - - even in the shower.”

“How did you get such a low TC number? I’ve never seen one that low. You must have had some real pull to get that.”

“I was flying TelComm executives around in their private hydrojet even before they put their satellites in orbit. That number was one of the perks. The 1001 series is only available to high ranking TelComm executives to this day. Their president gave me number thirteen for life long before they started using that series for their own people exclusively. I’ll be 1001-1000-1013 ‘til the day I die.”

“How about leaving me that number in your will? That would sure impress people on my business card.”

“There’s a waiting list of about twenty ahead of you.” With that Jack grinned broadly. I wasn’t going to get ahead of him.

“I couldn’t resist a little jab.”

“Me either.”

“You’re difficult to get ahead of aren’t you?”

“I try to stay on my toes, even if they are a bit shaky.”

“Speaking of staying on your toes, I’d better head home. Six o’clock comes early and I have a big day tomorrow. I want to thank you for a really great evening. The food and the company were great. Now you must come to my place for dinner.”

“Gladly! Can you cook?”

“I’ll ignore that remark. How about Friday evening, say six-thirty? I’d like to hear more about your life, and about the war from someone who was in it.”

“Sure my war stories won’t bore you?”

“I am quite certain they won’t. I haven’t heard anything boring from you yet.”

“Friday after dinner I’ll try.”

“Until Friday then.”

“Nope! I’m going to walk you home.”

“There’s no need. It’s quite safe around here at night.”

“My mother taught me that a gentleman always sees a lady to the door after dark and I always do what my mother taught me.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Besides, I need to know just where I’m going on Friday.”

“Okay, but you don’t have to.”

We walked down the walkway and I showed him my apartment door. As he was about to leave I took his head in my hands and planted a big kiss smack in the middle of his forehead.

“That’s about the most uninspiring kiss good night I have ever received from a lady. All things considered though, it was rather pleasant. See you Friday.”

I watched him as he walked toward his house. “What a fascinating man,” I thought out loud as I turned and stepped into my apartment. But that idea of a free-to-be-me day was terribly frightening. No way could I manage that.

§ Business as Usual §

Late Friday afternoon I was still involved with one of our better clients who was planning to tour the New Riviera, the Chinese Riviera with about twenty people. As five o’clock rolled around I began to feel irritated that it was taking so long. I couldn’t believe that suddenly dinner with an old man seemed more important than taking care of one of my special clients. What had gotten in to me? I turned to my client, Dan Quinn, and asked. “Would it be alright if Nedra took over for me? She’s fully capable to cover all we have yet to do and I have a really important personal appointment at six. I didn’t think this would take nearly so long.”

Dan Quinn was a man who felt very important. He always dealt with the top people of any company he worked with. He looked displeased. “I’d really rather work this out with you. Can’t you call and postpone your appointment?”

I was inwardly furious. It was the fragile ego of this pompous ass that drove him. He knew that not only could Nedra handle things from this point out, but that I would turn it over to her when he left anyway. He wanted me to change my appointment to feed his need for control. With measured determination I insisted, “I made a promise and it’s very important that I keep it. You understand the importance of keeping promises of course. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t know I always keep my promises, would you?” I had him cornered and he knew it.

“You’re sure she’ll handle it the way you would?”

“If I were taking this trip myself I’d have her handle it.” Without giving him a chance to change his mind I called Nedra in and asked her to take over for me. “Give him the full treatment.” I told her, then said my goodbyes and left. I don’t ever remember being so PO’d at a client, especially such a high profile one. I was nearly forty minutes behind schedule. As I hurried to the speedwalk I tapped jack’s number into my TC.

“I’m running just a bit late. Can you give me another half hour before you come over?”

“No problem. Maybe I can just mosey over and give you a hand.”
` “I’d rather you didn’t. I have it all planned out and I want to surprise you. If you came over early it would ruin the surprise.”

“Okay sweetheart, have it your way.” he replied in a very fake voice, obviously imitating someone. “I’ll see you at seven.”

§ After Dinner §

I watched Jack as he finished desert. He sat back in his chair, looked at my antique chandelier and began. “Let’s see, on a scale of one to ten I would give the ambiance a nine, the service a nine, the wine a nine, the food a solid ten and the company at least a twelve. Altogether a most memorable meal. And I must admit, from the candles on the table to that great brandy it was quite a surprise.”

“Wow! That’s enough to turn a girl’s head for sure.” I could hardly believe my reaction. I was strongly attracted to this man my grandparents’ age. I was as giddy as a young girl with a crush on her teacher.

“You’re quite accomplished for a woman your age, or a man your age for that matter,” he commented, his eyes wide in feigned amazement. Then they seemed to fill with mischief. “You are quite gorgeous, very bright, an excellent conversationalist on many subjects, a terrific cook and a successful business woman. In a nutshell, you are a class act. That’s a real rarity these days when most women your age are totally self-absorbed and wouldn’t know how to boil pasta fit to eat.”

“I can thank my grandmother for that. She was an active socialite hostess back in the late twenties before the big cultural shift and the flight of many Anglos to resettle Africa. She tried hard to teach me to be a traditional lady, even how to prepare elegant dishes. Told me innumerable stories of life before the Krang attack. I resisted of course, but some of it sunk in. I really do enjoy preparing a dinner like ours this evening.”

“Well, she did a great job. There’s much more to you than just a snazzy business woman. I’m quite impressed with the new parts I’m discovering. There’s a real, warm creative giver behind that hard cover.”

“Well, thank you kind sir. - Now! You were going to tell my some things about the war, remember? At least, I asked you to. Why don’t you start while I’m clearing this up.”

“Can I help?”

“Sure, if you want. Hand me the stuff and I’ll drop them in the soni-washer.” It only took a few minutes to clear the table and walk out to my studio room facing the ocean. “It’s not as big as yours and I have no patio up here, but the view’s just as great.” I pointed to the couch for Jack to sit and plopped down beside him. “Now I want you to tell me about the war. I’m fascinated with hearing about it from someone who was there.”

“Do you realize that was more than half a century ago? That’s hard for me to conceive of.”

“What were you doing when the war started?”

“Actually, I had just graduated from ground pilot school when the invasion started. I went straight from school to a combat station outside Washington DC. Fortunately we were so well prepared for fighting each other in near space our weapons easily adapted to fighting the Krang when they came at us from deep space. I spent two years just outside Washington flying Marauder attack craft defending the capital. I think the Krang were completely surprised by our defense capabilities. Once we figured out how to deal with them, that is. They were all attack and very weak on defense. It’s too bad we never learned how to communicate with them. We have no idea where they came from or why they attacked earth.”

“That was even before my parents were born. My grandmother told me about it. Weren’t their weapons something weird like neutron beams and neutron bombs? I know they killed a lot of people, but did no physical damage.”

“Killed nearly three billion poor souls. Mostly in Africa, Europe and the Middle East before we learned how to deal with them.”

“How did that happen? I mean, I’m a bit weak on my history of the invasion. Didn’t they land a force in the Sahara desert?”

“They sure did. That’s how we learned their great weakness. Unfortunately they destroyed all life within about a two-thousand mile radius of their Saharan base. They worked methodically in an expanding, circular pattern from around their base. Killed everything within that circle except for Egypt right near their base before we learned how to destroy them. Attacking them in the desert with conventional impact weapons and old explosives from long range did the trick. The only weapons they had were those neutron beam generators and neutron bombs. The generators had an effective range of about five miles. Any living thing hit by that beam within that range died instantly, ‘fried’ we used to say. Actually, they looked perfectly normal, but every cell was dead, even the bacteria in their system. Beyond that five-mile range the neutron beam had so widened it lost its power to kill. Within their range anything living, died. The neutron bombs had a range of about twelve miles and of course, the neutrons went straight through stone and steel. There was no shield against those neutrons. Five miles under the earth they still killed.”

“How did you avoid being killed by such an awesome weapon?”

“That was easy once we figured out their limited range. We stayed ten miles or more away from their generators and destroyed their bombs at least twenty miles up. Their entire ground forces were wiped out in two days of attacks by impact rockets and guided bombs. They had no armored defenses and weren’t even dug in. Physically, their bodies were so fragile there was nothing much left of them or their equipment when Egyptian forces rolled in.”

“I seem to remember some of that from my history books.”

“For ten months they kept coming at us and we kept blasting them out of the skies before they were close enough to kill anyone. I must have destroyed several hundred of their craft myself. They launched hundreds of thousands. Fortunately we were able to produce munitions fast enough to keep up with them. Only one of their bombs got close enough to the US to do damage and it blew over lake Michigan forty miles northeast of Chicago. Killed seven people on boats and lots of fish. Those were the only US casualties after we learned how to deal with them.”

“I remember reading they had a huge mother ship orbiting earth somewhere inside the moon’s orbit. When that was destroyed the attacks stopped and we’ve never heard from them since. Right?”

“The lady gets an A! After the Sahara incident when we realized they had no defenses we went on the offensive. When we found their mother ship, we launched a Z27 missile with a fusion warhead. That one bomb annihilated their entire force. We tried for twenty years to find parts of that mother ship to learn about their technology, but the fusion bomb simply vaporized it and all on board. Rumors were that the Egyptians captured several of their craft intact, but I doubt that. In more than fifty years since then, not one bit of physical evidence of those craft turned up. The Egyptians shared the few pieces of equipment and of their bodies that remained in the desert after we wiped them out. They didn’t have enough parts of craft, weapons or bodies to reconstruct anything but the most rudimentary parts. They were all so fragile. The few tissue samples they managed to collect deteriorated rapidly, even when frozen. It’s hard to guess why they came and what they meant to do. Other than destroy all life on earth that is. It was obvious that was their initial intent. What they meant to do after the earth was completely sterile is anyone’s guess. We all wondered why they didn’t just mount one massive frontal attack. They would have overwhelmed our defenses and we would all have died. Most strategists think they had a limited amount of power for their weapons and could only fire so many at any one time.”

“I remember grandma telling about the flurry of defense systems put in place for the anticipated second attack. Everyone was worried that they would come back with defenses and more powerful weapons. It didn’t mean much to me. It all happened twenty years before I was born.”

“Yep! We worried and prepared during that twenty years. Now it’s been fifty with no sign of them. It’s a real mystery. I was in the middle of that for more than ten years, learning the new weapons and training new recruits. At least it kept most people busy and off each other’s backs. That twenty years saw less war and terrorism than before or since. The whole world was quite peaceful. Of course, most of the long term warring factions died in the initial series of Krang attacks.”

“Sadly, since then things have returned to normal. Now we have new sets of warring factions. What was it like before the big migration. It seems strange now to think of Africa with all black people and Europe with Caucasians rather than Chinese.”

“Before the Krang came, Europe was a collection of Caucasian nations semi united by a common currency, but with many languages. I really wish the old US had moved in before the Chinese. By the time our politicians got off their duffs and quit apologizing for our military occupation of the oil fields of the middle east, the Chinese had taken over. As soon as the Chinese realized Europe was devoid of life, they caught us flat-footed by marching through Russia and occupying the whole continent. All they had to do was get rid of the bodies which hadn’t decomposed since even bacterial life was eradicated. All the buildings, equipment, factories - the entire infrastructure was intact. We even helped them with plant life to begin restoring the ecosystem. That’s still going on today. Probably won’t be complete for several hundred years. The amazing thing was how they converted to using English rather than Chinese as their main language. Twenty-five years after the attack they were the most powerful economic force, and the biggest market in the world. The US had become a distant second in spite of escaping nearly all effects of the Krang attack. The AAS is now the fastest growing economy and, if our growth rate continues, we’ll be dropping the old US to third in just a few decades.”

“What’s the real story of India and the US partitioning Africa? Was it really as peaceful as the history books say it was?”

“Not at first. India followed the Chinese example and marched just south of them through the Caucuses, Turkey and then down past the eastern end of the Mediterranean bypassing our troops in the middle east and the western, still viable part of Egypt to avoid conflict. Since the old US took over and occupied the Arabian oil fields from northern Iran to the entire Arabian peninsula, they had sizeable concentrations of troops available. When they realized the Indians were moving on Northern Africa the US moved troops from the oil fields and occupied the southern half of the African continent. Horrible fires burned through all of the dead jungle, denuding the land and leading to unbelievable erosion choking all rivers with ash and dead soil. There were a few skirmishes when our advancing forces met theirs in the rift valley, but a dividing line was soon established near the equator. The equator then became the official border between the American and Indian parts of Africa and remains so to this day. I happened to be with those forces that met the Indians. I was flying a Persues recon drone from about five miles behind the advancing troops. I spotted their forward formation when they were at least fifty miles away. The Indians knew we were coming, but didn’t know we were as close as we were. By the time we met, the diplomats had established the dividing line. We had to move back a few miles, but the Indians we met were quite friendly and there were no skirmishes in our sector.”

“That sounds almost funny in this day and age, friendly Indians.”

Jack laughed heartily. “That sounds like it’s right out of one of those ancient TV shows about the western US a couple of hundred years ago. I once had a collection of those from my grandfather. Stored them on a graphics chip for one of those old D-chip displays. They’re probably still around in some of my things. I doubt I could find a player that could read them. You know about friendly Indians?”

“When I was about ten, my father took me to a library in L City that showed old TV shows, ‘westerns’ they called them. Some of them were pretty intense. I remember the term from those shows.”

Jack shook his head. “Those same plots are used in many of our modern shows. They use mag riders instead of horses and laser gens instead of six-shooters, but otherwise they’re the same stories, probably told for centuries. Multiple interactions with viewers are the only really new parts and they’ve been around for at least thirty years.”

“Have you tried one of those new virtual reality shows? I understand they are quite exciting. Especially those with the selectable pain generators.”

He looked at me bristling, almost angrily. “I’ve had enough real pain. I don’t need any of the induced kind. Besides, I love real adventures. Those armchair safe virtual experiences leave me cold.”

“Okay, tell me about one of your real adventures.”

“How about one that fits with what we were talking about before, Africa and the Indian occupation?”

“Sounds interesting to me.”

“Well, the Indians were not very happy with their situation. They had a difficult problem as there was almost no infrastructure in the part of Africa they occupied. We had the oil fields of the Middle East and the major mining and manufacturing installations in South Africa. Even then Africa without plant or animal life was a horrible desert populated with dead animals and plants. It turned into a vast mud plain when it rained. Between the micro-critters we and the Indians brought with us and those borne by the winds, the dead finally began to decay. By the time we reached the rift valley, the constant smell of decaying flesh permeated the air. I imagine the Chinese faced the same problem in Europe.”

“I assume that’s why Africa is still in such bad shape today. I never met anyone who had been here during the early times. You’ve told me things that certainly weren’t in the history books.”

“It was not a pleasant place to be. I transferred from combat to environmental support while in Africa. Once the line between us and the Indians was established I wanted to restore Africa’s flora and fauna to pre-invasion condition by restoring native plants and animals. Problem was, we didn’t have any native micro-biota. It was all gone. We had a sterile environment and only alien micro-life of any kind. It will take maybe thousands of years for all levels of life to reestablish on the continent.”

“I knew there were environmental problems, but never understood why or their extent. I wonder, did I miss it or was it just not taught?”

“Probably a bit of both. I’ve met numerous people that couldn’t understand neutron sterilization, and why the bodies and carcasses didn’t decompose.”

“I understand that. I just never thought about the depth of life that needed to be restored. The large animals couldn’t survive without the micro biota so you really had to build from micro size up, didn’t you?”

“It was very discouraging. I was assigned to a small lake that had been part of a river system. The lake was completely dead. The bottom was covered with dead fish and some animal carcases dumped there by the rivers that fed the lake. What had been a fairly deep river gorge had been choked with mud runoff stabilized with dead trees flushed into the rivers from the surrounding countryside that was once a dense jungle. The gorge was now a series of lakes divided by dams of mud and trees. There was not enough water to top the dams which settled into near concrete during the first dry season. There was nothing green in sight. The entire landscape was a dead beige. When I arrived, the flesh in the lake was as fresh as it had been two years before when the neutron beams hit. Most were buried deep in the fine silt, but some were freshly deposited by the flush of the last rain.

“My first job was to spread soil from Egypt all over the lake. The thought was live Egyptian soil would have similar biota to what had been there before. It was arranged for us to have several truckloads of live soil shipped from Egypt through the Suez canal and down the Red Sea by boat to Eritrea. There we were to pick up the trucks and drive them eight hundred miles down the rift valley to the lake. Sounds fairly simple, right?

“Sixteen of us lifted off in the transport from the campsite by the lake and headed for the seaport in Eritrea. We all carried standard light military machine pistols as side arms and twelve day packs of food, clothing and ammo. We had four 8K heavy gens to be mounted one to each truck and a standard field charger for the gens. Each truck was supposed to have a standard emergency repair kit with tools and two spare HD wheels with foamcore tires. The road we were to travel was little more than cross country animal trails in most places. Detailed photo guide displays coupled with GPS equipment would keep us on track.”

“It sounds like you were well prepared.” I commented to which he turned his head slightly and gave me a squinty look.

“Yea, right. So we thought. The trouble began as soon as we stepped out of the transport. We were immediately surrounded by about twenty Indian troops with drawn weapons. It was a tense moment as Mac, our interpreter, talked to their lieutenant asking why we were being detained. I ordered my men to avoid reaching near their weapons and make only slow movements. Mac reported they controlled the local port and had not been informed any Americans would be coming to pick up the trucks. They were expecting Indian troops. It took them more than an hour to find out we were supposed to be there, a nervous hour under twenty guns. Once it was determined we were the ones to take the trucks the lieutenant apologized profusely and his men lowered their weapons and saluted us. It was really a comic scene after such a real scare.”

“It must have been very unnerving, with the guns and all.”

“Before leaving, we mounted an 8K gen on top of each truck cab and placed a gunner behind each one. Then we climbed into the huge dump trucks and headed south. Two of the six spare mounted foamcore tires had been stolen during the shipment. A check of the repair kits showed two were empty. The tools and parts had been stolen as well. As we were leaving, Mac reported the lieutenant warned him we would probably run into Indian deserters who would try to kill us and steal our trucks and weapons. He said they were most likely to appear during the first two hundred miles. After that we should see no one until a hundred miles north of our destination.

“By sunset we had made nearly a hundred miles with no sign of anyone or any thing moving for that matter. Fortunately, the valley floor was quite flat here so the going was fast and easy. Before it got completely dark we donned night vision equipment and turned on the IR headlights. As soon as we started up again, the lookout sighted life signs moving among the rocks about a mile ahead. The deserters were waiting for us. They would not expect us to have night vision equipment. So far we had the upper hand, but we would definitely have to deal with them. They were within the range of the K8s, but far beyond accurate range of the machine pistols. We moved slowly forward watching the distant forms repositioning in preparation for an attack. There appeared to be at least thirty of them.

“I moved the trucks into line formation spread as widely as I thought the terrain would allow. Suddenly there was a flash from the ground where they waited. A mortar was fired at us, an old, but effective weapon. I hoped they had poor range finding ability. I ordered the K8s to open up. Streaks of brilliant blue flashed up the valley, reaching for the forms visible to our night sights. The mortar round exploded harmlessly more than a hundred yards away. Unless we got that mortar the next round would be much closer. I ordered them to move up quickly and keep firing the K8s. The next mortar round exploded thirty yards behind us, right where we had been before we moved. It was the last round they fired. Every time a form appeared in the sights of a K8, a blue streak reached for it. In ten minutes it was all over. We could see the ones who remained fleeing for their lives away from the narrow valley. We probably killed most of them and the rest were no longer a danger. That was the last we saw of anything alive for the next two weeks.

“From then on nature and the terrain were our only enemies. Flat tires and broken trucks stopped us a dozen times. Some days we made a hundred miles through what looked like a dead moonscape totally devoid of life of any kind. Others we didn’t move while we repaired the truck or trucks. By six hundred miles we used the last spare wheel and foamcore tire and we had at least two hundred more to go. As we placed it on the truck we took stock of the ones we had taken off. Two were completely beyond help as the tire was ripped off the wheel and shredded. One sidewall was cut almost off, but could possibly be repaired by gluing parts of the shredded tires onto the sidewall. Two had massive holes in their treads. These two might be repairable by gluing tread into the hole. The sixth had a broken bead. It might be possible to glue another bead outside and so use the tire. Repaired tires would be mounted on the outside of the rear dual wheels where the load could be shared with the inside tire. Several of the wheels were bent, two severely. When we limped into the Indian camp some forty miles north of the lake, everyone in the trucks cheered. Another day or two and we would be there.

“The commander of the camp, a burly, belligerent Indian colonel Rawahal was not pleased with our presence. I had a run in with him once before at our border check point and he remembered. Our weapons and radio communicators were taken from us, our trucks were taken over and we were given the freedom of the camp as long as we stayed within the perimeter. Basically we were under house arrest and no one would know about it. I had to get word of our situation to our group just forty miles down the valley. My only hope was the transponder in the GPS system in one of the trucks. If I could get to it I could cut the power wire and use it as a morse code device. Hopefully someone monitoring our transponder knew morse code.

“We played it cool for three days. The trucks were parked in a row at the south end of the camp. We were in a makeshift barracks at the north end. It wouldn’t be easy. About midnight of the third day, I crept out of our barracks and headed for the trucks. I made it there undetected fairly easily. Taking a pair of diagonal cutters out of the tool box of the first truck, I crept slowly up to the door, opened it and slid inside. Once there I could lie on the floor and work undetected. I took the cover off the GPS transponder and found the power supply cable. I wanted to cut only the hot wire in that cable so I cut and pried the insulation off it and pulled out the red wire. A quick snip with the cutters, a bit of trimming of the insulation on the two cut ends and I was ready to go. I started with the old SOS call repeated about twenty times. Next I gave our code signal and a brief description of our situation. It took about twelve minutes for the complete transmission and I kept repeating it until finally I fell asleep.

When I awoke it was daylight outside. I couldn’t return to the barracks without being seen so I decided to stay in the truck and continue sending the message. I must have continued for two hours before the unmistakable sound of a Perseus drone buzzed overhead. Someone was looking for us. I knew my crew would all be outside waving their arms. I sent the message, ‘Perseus Drone overhead. Come and get us.’ and then our code sequence. Within half an hour my men were getting back in the trucks. The first one to spot me told me to stay down. ‘I’ll tell you why as soon as we clear this damned perimeter.’ he said emphatically.

“When we were safely away from the camp both guys in the truck burst into laughter. It seemed the colonel had discovered I was gone and assumed I had escaped. He thought I had made it to our border outpost over the forty miles across that terrible terrain in the dead of night and alerted our forces. When that Perseus Drone appeared he decided I was superhuman. To top it off, it was apparent his CO warned him not to create an international incident. We made it to our camp by evening of that day without further incident. Even the Indians at the border treated us well.”

“Then what happened? With the Egyptian soil, I mean.”

“We used it to seed the lake and about a thousand square miles of the land around the old river valley. I stayed there with the ARP for three years until my five years in the service was completed. By that time I was so burnt out working with that dead land that I left and headed for home in the good old US where there were people, plants and critters. That’s when I bought the land. The US sold the land in hopes individuals would help restore it. As it turned out, that worked quite well, but not quite the way it had been envisioned by the politicians. The land recovered very slowly. There wasn’t much done until the Anglo migration gained momentum.”

“My parents weren’t in the first land rush. They stayed put in the old US until the Latinos passed that constitutional amendment making Spanish the official US language. Like many others, they sold everything they had and headed for Africa and the last great land rush. Property values dropped so fast they only got about thirty cents on the dollar for their holdings when they sold out. Fortunately, they were quite lucky in the land lottery just before they cut the plots from 1280 acres to 320.”

“I don’t think anyone dreamed the migration would move so fast or work so well. It was as if all the brains and experience moved en masse to the new nation. I remember the saying that made the rounds, ‘If you have a trade, you’ve got it made. If skills you’ve not, you’ll sit and rot.’”

“I remember my dad telling me how they wished they had gone with the first wave. He also told me there was a lot of trouble at first. A lot of very bad and lawless people.

“He certainly had that right on track. For a number of years it was a lot like the old west in the mid-eighteen hundreds. Land grabbers, drifters and fortune hunters - it was very bad. Then the government stepped in with the newly organized military and established strict control measures. There are still some really bad characters out there, especially the Indian marauders. We were fortunate to have leaders like Sunderland and his group who were real statesmen dedicated to creating an improved representative republic. A dictator could have taken Africa down a very different path.”

“Wasn’t he the UN representative from the old South Africa? One of the very few Africans who didn’t die in the Krang attack?”

“There was a group of about four hundred South Africans who were not in Capetown when it was annihilated. Most were in New York at the UN. He was the leader of that group.”

“It must have been terrible to learn your entire nation was dead.”

“I’m sure. That group worked hard to get the US to answer China and move to take over Africa. When those clowns in Washington finally moved, that group, under Sunderland, were the very first to enter Capetown. He claimed all of South Africa for his group as the only representatives of the old government and no one could argue with that, not even the UN. It was touch and go for several years as everyone saw his efforts as a grab for property. When he established the land lottery and invited Americans to move to Africa and rebuild, it became apparent he had a much broader vision. When his group adopted the old US constitution and declared English as the official language the first rush began. African Americans were the first to move in large numbers, primarily because Sunderland and his group were mostly black Africans. Seeing this, Sunderland made an appeal to all English speaking Americans to join him in creating a nation with true racial equality. When the group claimed all of Africa south of the equator plus all of the old Arabian lands, they renamed the new country The Anglo African States. That was about the same time, the major emigration began in earnest. About this time, the Chinese in Europe began distancing themselves from the old China. When the Sino-European States declared their independence and the AAS did the same, the world came very close to a major world war. Then the US military split and nearly the entire US Navy and overseas installations headed for free Africa, weapons and all. Finally the UN stepped in and arbitrated the famous Atlantic Agreements. I was sure those agreements would never stand and that all hell would break loose, but I was wrong. In spite of a large number of extremely angry people, the agreements held. I think there were just too many multinational corporations with holdings everywhere to allow a major war. That peace was paid for by corporate money from all over the world, even China. The pressure to work together to defend the earth from the next Krang attack was also a major factor. We all were sure another attack was coming.”

“Do you think they’ll come back? Attack us again, I mean?”

“That’s a great mystery. No one has the slightest clue why they came, where they came from, what they wanted with the earth, or even if there are any more of them out there.”

“That’s really weird. I’ve read several books by experts who claim to know the answers to those questions, but none of them ever made any sense to me.”

“Maybe we destroyed all of them before they could send a message about what was happening. I’m sure they never expected the fusion bomb that vaporized their mother ship. They may have superior space travel capabilities, but they certainly underestimated our military response. And we saw no indication of any communication system. They used no known EMF frequency for anything. That’s why it was such a surprise when they attacked just a short time after we first detected their ships. It was almost like they didn’t expect any resistance. They certainly had no defensive systems of any kind. At least none that affected us in any way.”

“They may never return at all.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“There’s one question I’ve never heard answered.”

“What’s that?”

“How did they come to be called “Krang, Since they never communicated with us, where did their name come from?”

Jack laughed out loud. “You never heard any of the stories? Why we called them “Krang” that is?”

“I never wondered about it until just now.”

“It was when they first arrived, before they started the killing. They sent a few ships into our atmosphere, apparently for recon. The ships created electronic disturbances in all radio frequencies which we assumed came from their propulsion systems. These disturbances generated sounds in radio systems audio that could best be described as ‘krraaang’ thus they came to be called the Krang.”

“That’s one story I never heard before. Are you sure you’re not pulling my leg?”

“That’s an absolute fact. I heard that sound myself many times. Almost immediately the name took off and then stuck. We all called them the Krang long before it became official. We had no other thing to name them by”

“That’s really interesting, but I’m still a bit suspicious.”

“Look it up. I’m sure there are records of what I told you somewhere in the archives of the war.”

“No need. I’m sure you know what you’re talking about.”

After a pleasant evening of conversation we agreed to trade weekly dinner invites. By the time Jack headed for home, I knew I had found a new friend.

§ Getting to Know You §

Some six weeks later, while we were relaxing after dinner at my apartment I found myself examining my new friend carefully. He was quite an attractive man, even at his age. We sat there silent for a few moments while surprising thoughts flowed through my head. “How about some music?”

“Fine if it’s real music. I have a problem with all that modern political crap. To me that’s not even music.” Jack answered with a clear voice that seemed to smile at me.

“I’m sure you’ll like my selection. It’s music to relax with. I’m not so keen on most of that political stuff myself. In fact, you won’t find one chip of that in my entire collection. I’ve got some prewar recordings that really sing and some new stuff by Karamunda that’s great to slow dance to.”

‘Let’s have it then. I rather like Karamunda myself. Good music to relax with.”

I tapped several selections into the IPX and soon pleasant sounds permeated the room. “Do you know much about Karamunda? I know he’s old African, but that’s about all.”

“His parents were part of the small group of South Africans who missed the Krang annihilation. He was one of the very first to be born in Africa after the war. I know he studied music in New York including the classics. Then he studied the recordings of old African music in Cape Town for many years while performing mostly that modern political stuff. I think Bakay, or something like that was the name of his group.”

“I never got into that kind of music. I remember Bakay, but didn’t connect them with him. That’s very interesting.”

“He suddenly switched direction, started his new group and they took off. His marriage of old African sounds and rhythm with the classics was a completely new and unique sound. Numerous others picked up his style, but they’re all relatively poor imitations of the real Karamunda. Almost single handedly he’s been bringing soft melodic music, even romantic music, back into popularity. The piece playing now, “Dreamwalker,” actually has old native American origins.”

“Really? Does that relate to the resurgence of native American culture in the old US?”

“I don’t think so. But it does bring up some interesting thoughts about the mass movement of racial groups in the last fifty years.”

“I feel another serious observation coming on.”

“You don’t like serious observations?”

I had some very strange feelings about where this was going. I was absolutely enchanted by his memory, knowledge and willingness to talk about almost anything. He made everything so interestingly real. “Not usually. Well, actually, I do, but so few people make really serious observation and most don’t have a clue how to talk about them. Small talk is their entire conversational world.”

“I take it you want me to continue?”

“Please.”

“It’s just so ironic. The Europeans come over and take America away from the natives. Treat them horribly: steal their land, infect them with their diseases, banish them to reservations and then almost forget they even exist. They were probably treated even worse than the Africans who were there. Then, just after the Krang attack, Latinos became a majority in the US and took political control. I remember that changeover quite well. After a while, when Africa opened up, Africans and then Europeans fled to the new AAS, leaving Latinos as a huge majority. Since they were largely of native American ancestry, one could say they took back their native land from the Europeans.”

“Interesting. I never thought about it that way.”

“Now native American culture seems to be gaining interest all over the US. Who knows where that will lead?”

“It’s crazy. America has gone back to the natives. The Krang certainly did rearrange our world.”

“Actually they merely brought about the changes that enabled the rearrangement and at a terrible cost in human life. Lots of people have forgotten we lost nearly three billion souls in that war. And we didn’t even know what it was about.”

“Since I was born almost thirty years after it happened it seems a bit less threatening to me, but three billion? I don’t think I remember it was so many. Are you sure?”

“Give or take a million or so. We speak so cavalierly about it, but those were living, thinking, feeling people like you and I, obliterated in an instant by an unseen force. I walked through some of those places with the dead lying where they fell and by the thousands. Those sights still haunt me at times.”

The far away look on his face as he spoke those words was almost frightening. “Can we talk about something a bit more pleasant? How about getting back to the music of Karamunda?” “Dreamwalker” was just ending.

“The next number is a bit more conventional, less native American and more African. I can’t remember the name, but it’s quite melodic with an underlying beat that is definitely African.”

Once more I was surprised at the breadth of his knowledge. Suddenly inspired, I stood up. “Dance with me?”

“You really want to dance with this old body?” he commented as he stood up and gathered me into his arms. “I don’t know if I remember how.”

“Yes, I certainly do and I’ll bet your last comment was an out and out lie.”

We danced for a long time, maybe forty minutes, with just a tiny bit of conversation here and there. I could hardly believe how thrilled I was. Finally, we stopped dancing facing the window and stood there in each others arms watching the night over the ocean and listening to the tumbling waves. All kinds of feelings stirred my body while crazy, romantic thoughts ran through my mind. It had been a long time since I last experienced those.

“I hate to break a really magical moment, but I think I had better head for home.” Jack said as we slowly and reluctantly untwined. “It’s way past my bedtime and I have to head out early in the morning.”

“Oh?”

“As much as I hate to leave really wonderful company, I have to be super sharp tomorrow when I interview some people for an article I’m writing.”

I couldn’t believe the disappointment I felt at the prospect of his leaving. “You’re writing an article about what?”

“It’s about those old Indian marauders, the criminal gangs left over from the time of the original partition. They’ve joined with several radical political groups, increased in numbers and become more organized over the years. They’re now a well oiled criminal, terrorist organization ranging all over Africa. I’ve had several run ins with them over the years. Because of my experiences, Africa Now magazine has commissioned me to write a series of articles about them. Their current leader is a survivors from the group we nearly wiped out in that skirmish in the Rift valley. They even started a new religion, giving their followers a new name about ten years ago. You know the name they are now using, don’t you?”

“No, I haven’t heard.”

“It’s the name we gave our out world attackers, ‘Krang.’”

“Interesting. I’ve heard about some of their activities, but not about their name. Are they the ones who murdered those settlers up near the equator about a month ago?”

“They’re the ones. They’re a very nasty bunch. Stay mostly on the Indian side of the border.”

“I remember reading they operated only in the land north of the border.”

“More and more they are hitting south in the AAS. They are gaining converts to their worship of the Krang. It’s a movement with no place in our country. They must be stopped or annihilated.”

“You sound like it’s serious.”

“I believe they’re a lot more of a danger than most people think. If we don’t stop them soon, they are certain to create bigger and bigger and far more devastating problems.”

“Why haven’t we heard more about this problem in the news? I thought they were just a small group of foreign bandits.”

“I’ll give you a copy of my research and the articles I have already published when I get back. You can decide for yourself how big a threat they pose. Right now I’d better go home. Five o’clock will roll around pretty quick and I’ll have to sleep fast.”

“Please, let’s get together as soon as you return. I’d like to hear more about your writing and I do so enjoy your company.”

“Certainly no more than this old coot enjoys yours. How about Sunday afternoon. I’ll be back late Saturday night. Come over Sunday about noon. I’ll have dinner almost ready. You can help me finish.”

“I’d like that.”

“Now, how about a real goodnight kiss?”

I had never wanted more to kiss a man in my life. I looked up into his eyes and slipped my arms around his neck. “How about it?”

When finally he walked down the steps, I watched him until he was out of sight, thinking, “Carol, you’re starting to fall for a man almost three times your age. Are you out of your mind?”

§ Anticipation §

I decided to let this thing take its course and see where it led. The chances of it being anything but a momentary infatuation were quite small. Surely the huge difference in our ages would prove an insurmountable object before very long. It was an anxious Saturday and by Sunday noon I was practically a basket case from the waiting. This was certainly not the usual me. By the time I walked up the path to his house I was literally shaking with excitement. I could not believe my feelings.

“Greetings, milady. Please enter.” he exaggerated formally as he made a sweeping bow and extended his hand toward the main room. Mock seriousness controlled his face.

Not to be out done, I curtseyed, took his hand and pranced inside. “Thank you kind sir.”

Next thing I knew we were entwined, right back where we left off on Friday. After a long while we stopped and looked at each other. My heart was almost jumping out of my chest.

“Yup! I was right.” These words of his came with a broad smile that fit the moment perfectly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just that I decided Friday you were the best kisser I had ever kissed and that one just proved I was right.”

“Well, sir, you say just the nicest things. It’s enough to sweep a poor girl off her feet.” I replied in my best fragile female voice.

“Methinks I hear words from the distant past, distant even for me.”

With that we both broke into laughter and headed into the kitchen area.

“All I have to do is saute these shrimp and dinner will be served. If I can catch my breath, that is. Young lady, you can’t know how you have charged up my life. I don’t know where we’re going, but I’m definitely on board for the entire trip. Just let me know if and when you feel any different.”

“Right now it looks to me like a long trip and I have no thought of quitting until we get wherever it is we’re going.” I walked over and put my arms around him. “I know it’s unlikely, but I’m really falling for you big time. This is no little girl crush.”

“As much as I love this, it’s dinner or smoochin’. Shrimp are touchy and I can’t cook and handle serious kissin’ at the same time. What’ll it be?”

I put on my best pout for the answer. “Oh, all right, but when dinner is over, look out.”

As soon as we sat down to relax after everything was put away I felt very warm and cuddly. I wanted that man more than I had ever wanted another. I stuck my lips in his ear and whispered, “Make love to me.”

“What? You’re likely to get me in serious trouble saying that.”

“I certainly hope so.”

“Are you sure I’m not too old. I mean . . .”

“Let’s find out.” I interrupted, taking his hand and pulling him toward the bedroom.

§ Reality Check §

It was late afternoon when Jack shook me awake. He looked quite serious. “Carol, we’ve got to talk. I don’t want anything to interfere with what’s happening with us, but I think we should face some realities. Talk about them I mean.”

“Right now? - - Can’t we wait and just enjoy for a while.”

“Sooner or later we’re going to have to deal with a few things and I’d like to do it sooner rather than later, before we’re in so deep neither of us can back out gracefully.”

“I hate being practical at times like these.”

“I do too, but my mind keeps waving red flags and I’d like to get rid of them right now.”

“I don’t want one of those, ‘I’m old enough to be your father routines.’”

He smiled that impish little boy smile. “That wouldn’t work because I’m actually older than your grandfather.”

“Oops. I did tell you about him didn’t I?”

“At our first dinner.”

“Oh, all right. Give me your best shot.”

Jack rolled his eyes knowing I was having a hard time being serious. “At best, we are an unlikely pair. That certainly doesn’t mean we can’t make it. I’ve never been one for short term relationships. If either of our hearts are going to be broken, so be it. I may be an old man, but my heart feels the same as it has my entire adult life. That’s the only real problem I see.”

“Okay, I’ve been giving that some serious thought since I first realized how my feelings for you were growing. Like you, I am not big on short term relationships. How long could we last? Ten years would be more than most relationships, even marriages last any more. You’d be eighty-five and I’d be thirty-eight. Besides, you look like one of those ageless people to me. You might make it to a hundred in relatively good health. At least, we could hope.”

“My concern is that you would be giving up the chance for children. I’m not about to become a father for lots of reasons, mostly the kids. It wouldn’t be fair to them.”

“Truthfully, I don’t see myself as cut out for children anyway. Never have. I love my nieces and nephews, even like taking care of them occasionally, but I don’t long for that as a full time responsibility. What about you? How long have you been living alone? A relationship might put a crimp in your lifestyle.”

“Answers, in order: first, you may one day wake up and regret not having children. Second, I’ve lived alone sure, but not by choice. Just never found anyone crazy enough to put up with me. I rather like the prospect of a pleasant companion.”

“You mean you tried?”

“Sure. Even had one lady move in for a short time about ten years ago. That was a bad mistake which took me six months to correct.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Evelyn was a widow, fifty, pretty, talkative and looking for a husband. A friend put us together and for a short time it worked out. We certainly weren’t in love, but she seemed a decent sort, you know, - comfortable. After several months she moved in with me. Within a week of her moving into the house I knew I had made a terrible mistake. We soon began to have conflicts over little things, totally insignificant things. I was as much to blame as she, maybe even more. We were really a poor match. When we finally parted, we agreed we had waited far too long to end it. She was at least intelligent enough to realize it was the fault of neither of us. It was just one of those things. After that I gave up and quit even thinking about it.”

“Now I see why you want to put things in order. You were burnt once and know it can happen. Well, I made my decisions about children long before I met you. I hope you’re clear on that. And I don’t see any tie-in with your previous story. I hesitate asking, but I wonder about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Did you two enjoy making love?”

“Never made love.”

I was incredulous, “You lived with a woman for six months and never had sex with her?”

“It sounds weird when you put it like that. I thought about it, but it never seemed - - appropriate.”

“I feel sorry for that woman. She sure missed out on a fantastic lover. No wonder it didn’t last. At least, that’s one problem we won’t have to deal with.”

“And we’re not living together either. That helps keep conflict to a minimum.”

I almost choked on what I was thinking, but decide to ask anyway, “How’d you like to try it for a while? Living together I mean. We could see if we have any conflicts.”

“You’re not serious?”

“Never more serious in my life.”

“You want to see just how quickly we would be at each other’s throats?”

“No, just how often we would make love when we slept together every night.”

“Touché.”

“Of course, you’d have to throw out all that masculine furniture and move mine in.”

“You’re full of it.”

“Just wanted to see if you were paying attention.”

“What would your family think?”

“That I am crazy, but they already know that. Actually, I think my brother would really like you. You two are alike in so many ways.”

“I just realized another strange thing. You’re younger than my grandson, Eric.”

I chuckled. “Let’s see, I’m younger than your grandson and you’re older than my grandfather. That makes us about even.”

Jack screwed his face up. “You exhibit very strange reasoning. Sound, but very strange.”

Suddenly I felt warm and tender. “There was a poem Ted gave me before he left. It was an old one and he didn’t know the author, but it says it all. I read it over and over many times during the pain-filled weeks after he left. Let me think and I’ll repeat it for you.

‘It is surely not within our power to say how long our love will last.

It may be within this hour may lose those joys we now do taste.

The blessed that immortal be, from change in love are only free.

Then since we mortal lovers are, ask not how long our love will last,

But while it does, let us take care each minute be with pleasure passed:

Were it not madness to deny to live because we’re sure to die?’”

Jack shook his head. “That’s almost like hitting below the belt. I’ll have to admit, you certainly got me with that one. It’s really quite beautiful.”

I looked up at him expectantly. “What do you say we give it a try? As I see it, neither of us has anything to lose.”

His eyes widened. “A commitment?”

I had to reorient my mind. “Uh - - - yes. A commitment. Most definitely a commitment - for both of us.”

He looked just a bit worried. “Just what kind of a commitment are you speaking of?”

“We already have an unspoken commitment. We both admitted to loving each other. When you say you love someone and really mean it, it’s a pretty big commitment right then and there. You did mean it, didn’t you?”

“Absolutely! I don’t say those words without meaning them and meaning them for a long time into the future. I have never said, ‘I love you.’ to anyone I don’t still love to this day. At least not since I was in my teens.”

“I can’t believe you said that. I have used almost those same exact words myself to explain my feelings on the same subject. No wonder we hit it off so well.”

He grinned and put his arms around me. “Well then, little girl, you got yourself a man. At least a commitment from one. I was in love with you by our third dinner, but never dreamed it would go the other way as well. I’ll remain committed until I am committed. To the looney bin that is.” His worried look returned. “You didn’t mean any kind of legal commitment did you?”

“Not at all. We can think about that later if we don’t kill each other first.”

His worried look morphed into a gentle smile. “Well said. I was just checking to make sure we were on the same wavelength.”

The little girl in me became impish. “Now, why don’t I go home and pick up a few things for tonight and tomorrow. Then tonight we can play old married folks and I can go directly to work from here after I fix your breakfast.”

His “Absolutely not.” said firmly as he crossed his arms shocked me. Then he added, grinning, “I’ll do the cooking in my house while you are making yourself beautiful for work.”

§ Together in two houses §

Within a few weeks we settled into a routine. Friday evenings I would go directly to his house from work, have dinner and stay the weekend. Sunday dinner was at my apartment and Jack stayed with me until I left for work Monday morning. Sunday, June 14 I surprised Jack with a birthday party dinner.

“I don’t remember telling you today was my birthday.” He responded when I plopped a birthday cake down in front of him.

“You didn’t, just told me it was in June. Remember giving me your card with your TC number?”

“Sure, but that doesn’t have my birthday on it.”

I grinned slyly while commenting, “You’d be surprised at the information one can gain in a credit report if you have a person’s name and TC number.”

Jack looked a bit angry. “You ran a credit check on me?”

“Don’t be so disturbed. I only did it to get your birth date.”

Still a bit ruffled, he asked, “What other information did you glean from that report?”

I laughed. “I do believe the man is a bit peeved.”

“Well, wouldn’t you be if you found I was secretly prying into your credit history?”

“Don’t be a jerk. I wanted to surprise you for your birthday and that’s the only way I could find the date without asking you.”

Jack looked down and became very apologetic. “I’m so sorry, Hon. I was being a real jerk wasn’t I?”

I put on a stern look. “Yes you certainly were.”

Almost pleading he asked, “Can we go back to where you just surprised me with the cake and start over?”

I smiled pleasantly. “Sure.”

“Okay! What a wonderful surprise. I love surprises and I love you. How thoughtful. I didn’t even think you knew my birthday.”

“That may have been a bit of overkill, but you certainly redeemed yourself.”

“I learned my lesson and promise to behave in the future.”

“In that case, I have a big present for you.”

“Oh? You didn’t need to get me anything.”

“I know, but I wanted to. It’s back in the bedroom and I need to finish wrapping it. I’ll call you when it’s ready and you can come back and unwrap it.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He replied as his bright eyes sparkled in a whole face smile.

A soon as I had tied a huge red bow to the package I called for him to come back. When he opened the door he found me standing by the bed wearing a huge red bow tied around my waist and nothing else. To my surprise he doubled over laughing.

“I didn’t expect you to laugh.”

He grabbed me in his arms, still grinning. “I imagined many things while I waited, but this certainly wasn’t one of them. It’s much better than anything i could have imagined.”

Some time later he whispered in my ear. “That was the best birthday present I’ve ever received.”

By the next month I had moved a number of things into his house and we were together every night. Sunday and Monday we were in my apartment and the rest of the week we were in his house. We maintained this routine for the next two months while increasing numbers of my belongings made their way into his house.

During an evening meal Jack surprised me by asking, “How long is the lease on your apartment?”

“It’s an annual lease. It will be coming up for renewal in a few months. Why do you ask - as if I didn’t know.”

Well, you’re hardly ever there except to retrieve something and bring it over here and It looks to me as if we’re a fairly permanent thing. Why don’t you drop your lease and put your furniture in storage?”

“And become dependent on your good will for the roof over my head? That’ll be the day.” I threw at him with a big grin.

Jack was not about to be out flim-flamed. Then maybe you’d better move back over there, today.”

“And miss out on all this great food? Not on your life.” We both had a chuckle after that exchange. “Seriously, I have been wondering about that ever since moving in, but decided to put off bringing it up until the end of the lease was a bit closer.”

“What are you going to do when and if we have a big fight?”

“Throw you out of course.” I said emphatically. “Actually, this is what I plan to do should that happen.” With that I stood up, dropped my dress to the floor, reached over, grabbed him and dragged him off to the bedroom.

Afterwards, as we lay snuggled in the warm bed he said softly, “ I guess we’ll just have to fight more often.”

When all my belongings were moved into his place, stored, or disposed of, I turned my keys over to my ex-landlord with no hesitation.

§ A little remodelling §
One day when I came home there was a huge stack of new lumber in his back yard. “What’s all the lumber for?” I asked when I walked in.

“Just a little remodeling.”

“A little? That looks like enough wood to build another house and you look like the proverbial cat the swallowed the pet bird. What’s going on?”

He grinned, kissed me and asked. “Would you like to pick out the fixtures for our new bath room?”

“New bathroom? What’s wrong with the old one? It works fine for me.”

“I decided it’s much too small for the two of us so I’m having it made larger. We’ll have to use the guest room and bath until the work is finished.”

“And how long will it take?”

“My contractor friend says about six weeks, but I’m betting eight or ten. Now, how about picking out the fixtures?”

“Who decorated the rest of your house?”

“I did, Why?”

“I think you should stick with the same decorator. I’d better tell you, I’m a lousy one to pick colors or decorating. It’s not a thing I can do well so I get others to do my decorating for me. It always comes out better that way. I like to think I’m smart enough to realize my talents as well as my limitations and decorating is definitely not among my talents.”

“I thought all women liked to decorate.”

“Not this one. All I can guarantee is a disaster.”

“So be it. Since we’ll have to live in the guest room until the project is finished why don’t you stay out of the master bedroom until it’s ready. That way, it will be a surprise.”

“I don’t know whether my curiosity can handle that or not, but I’ll try.”

Staying out of the master bedroom while the remodeling proceeded was very difficult, but I managed. Living in the guest room was a bit crowded, but we managed to do so with minimum conflicts. I was glad to be away at work while all the stuff went in and out the hall. I was amazed at how clean things were each evening when I arrived. Several times they started work before I left, but they were always gone by the time I arrived home. After nearly two months Jack announced that we were about a week away from the grand opening.

§ + 7 month §

I could hardly believe it had already been a month since Jack was killed. I don’t think I’ll ever get over it. I knew I would lose him some day, but not so soon and certainly not so horribly. Anger mixed with grief is not a recipe for a peaceful life and I had lots of both. My immense frustration at not being able to do something about my anger was about to be changed. Jeanne Long had asked me to come to her apartment for a visit saying there was something she wanted to discuss with me. As I walked into her place, memories of my first visit brought on a flood of tears.

To be continued!

To contact the author for any reason, Click Here!